


Love in the time of Juggalos

by sburbanite



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Timeline, Bipolar Sollux Captor, Bittersweet, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, End of the World, Epilogue will make it kinda better I promise, F/F, F/M, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, No deus ex machina, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Graphic Smut, Remembering things from other timelines, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 37
Words: 80,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4992640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/pseuds/sburbanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha-Dave has everything anyone could want: fame, fortune, legions of adoring fans, and a shitty hatchback car.<br/>But behind the shades is a man who knows the world is ending, and who wakes each morning expecting to see a lover who isn't there. Someone he's never even met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing someone you didn't know existed

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Be My Boyfriend (I'll Pay You)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544632) by [Volo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volo/pseuds/Volo). 



> Setting inspired by the excellent "Be My Boyfriend (I'll Pay You)" by Volo  
> Also the beautiful song "The Path" by PhemieC

The air is heavy and humid as I step out of my apartment building, onto the baking Manhattan sidewalk. Glancing up at the summer sky through the tinted glass of my Ray-Bans, it’s difficult to imagine that the world is doomed. Ending. That the human race’s time has almost run out. Tossing the keys to the penthouse into my pocket, I saunter away from the ancient brownstone, trying to remember where the fuck I parked my car. Someone as world-famous as I am would normally live somewhere like the Upper West Side, overlooking the park and fashionably close to all the hip places to be seen. But something about the East Village, with its cast-iron fire-escapes and indie record stores has always felt more my speed. The locals are too busy trying to appear aloof to accost me for autographs as I saunter by, even though they all know who I am. I feel at home here despite starting to age-out of the demographic of twenty and early-thirty-somethings who dominate these streets. Of course, it does make it a pain in the ass to get to my uptown office. 

After wandering for a couple of blocks, I find my beaten-up old hatchback. The thing is a piece of shit, but it’s probably the most valuable piece of shit in the world. The “STR1D3R” number-plate is a dead giveaway, but the crappy car isn’t designed to give me anonymity. It’s simply a tribute to how deeply I worship the gods of irony. Frequently, it’s stolen by kids who leave garbled scripts in the back seat when they dump it a few streets away, but one of my people is in charge of monitoring the state-of-the-art tracker fitted under the dashboard. The car always ends up back within walking-distance of the apartment one way or another. Some of the shitty scripts have even inspired parts of my movies – several former car thieves now have lucrative jobs in my ironic-media empire. 

Driving uptown is always a chore, but putting on some music blurs the honks and fumes of the traffic into a soft background hum. There’s nowhere to park when I get to the glass edifice that houses the office, so I just stick it on the painted curb by a fire hydrant. Half the attendants in this city won’t even bother to stick a ticket on the car once they see the number-plate. Even if they do, it’s probably cheaper to pay the fine than waste any more of my time looking for a space. I could, of course, park in my V.I.P. spot in the secure car-park below the building, next to the BMW’s and Mercedes’ of my remora-fish executives. But the little notes that fans leave under the wiper blades always lift my mood after a boring day. Anyway, “fuck the establishment” is pretty much my core brand, so it wouldn’t do to disappoint my audience. 

Morning meetings fly by in a blur of sycophantic hipsters, simultaneously obsequious and condescending. Half of them love me with a passion that is almost terrifying, and the others want to hate me to death behind their rictus grins. The latest SBaHJ project is pushing forward at breakneck speed, and the producers know that the time is approaching for me to throw my customary spanners into the works, inserting meaningless asides and subversive political messages. Re-ordering the key scenes so they run in reverse, or cutting to a five minute shot of a beach ball blowing along a deserted beach instead of a critical action scene. My usual shtick. The political stuff in the last movie was getting fairly blatant, and I’ve been waiting for the hammer to fall ever since, just like the one that squashed that poor little frog in the Condesce-style tiara. A shitty, early-90s-CGI frog, naturally. The glitter encrusted death-warrant I’d received in the post had had my name on it, but instead of a signature, the final line had been decorated with a single eggplant emoji. The Condesce’s attempt at irony was more weird than amusing, but the message was crystal clear. Any more bullshit and I’m toast. 

While I nod sagely through yet another pitch for SBaHJ merchandise - in this case condoms and lube – I discreetly open a conversation with my only real friend through the smoked-glass of the desk. My phone has the brightest screen money can buy, as well as the loudest ringer. 

turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist[TT] 

TG: yo rose hows the book coming 

TT: It’s good, David. I suspect it will be even longer than my last novel. 

TT: Felines the world over will tremble in fear that their owners’ copy will slip from their grasp. 

TT: You? 

TT: Still filling the world with cinematic garbage? 

TG: yeah my shits going ok too 

TG: want some free samples of condoms with geromys gormless face on them? 

TT: What possible use could I have for condoms, David? 

TG: oh yeah good point 

TG: hows the missus 

TT: Kanaya is fine, thank you for asking. Her fashion line is premiering in NY next week. 

TT: We were wondering if you wanted to have dinner. 

TG: sure that sounds good 

TG: be great to see you both 

TG: might actually stir some genuine emotion in the hollow centre of my admittedly attractive chest 

TT: Are you still feeling depressed, David? 

TG: yeah well whats there to feel happy about rose 

TG: worlds ending 

TG: fish hitler sending me death threats 

TG: clowns running unopposed for president 

TG: making preparations for my own death and a successor who ill never meet 

TG: poor little bastard he doesnt know what hes missing 

TG: plus i still wake up every morning wondering where someone is 

TG: except theres never really been anyone i cared about 

TT: What do you mean by "wondering where someone is"? 

TG: seriously rose its like whoever it is just popped out for some aj and never came back 

TG: its always super confusing when theres some rando guy or gal in my bed 

TG: like ive done something awful and i want to be sick 

TG: cheated on my imaginary soulmate 

TG: i miss them so fucking much and ive never even met them 

TG: i’d fucking know if i had 

TT: Is this every day, Dave? Every single morning? 

TG: yeah for like seventeen years 

TG: been getting worse and worse ever since i was 16 

TT: Why have you never mentioned this before? It’s very concerning. 

TG: well for like a couple of years 

TG: before you met Kanaya 

TG: i thought it might be you 

TG: you know that i was meant to be with 

TG: i didnt really feel like talking to you about it once i figured out you were only into the ladies 

TG: on account of never being able to wake up next to you 

TG: unless in a friendly sleepover context 

TT: Oh David, I’m so sorry. 

TT: I had no idea. 

TG: its not your fault rose i guess i just transferred expectations on to you because youre like the only decent friend ive ever had 

TT: To tell the truth, I had the same feeling that someone was missing before I met Kanaya. 

TT: Not that I ever thought it was you I was meant to be with. 

TT: Sorry, but you know I’ve never had any deviant heterosexual leanings. 

TG: yeah i know 

TG: no need to apologise rose 

TG: some people just arent gifted with the ability to see the inner sexy within each and every special snowflake 

TG: except unattractive people obviously 

TT: We met at University so I assumed it was just teenage hormones. 

TT: And when we started dating, the feeling just sort of went away. 

TT: I can’t imagine feeling it for so long, Dave. It must be terrible. 

TG: pretty much but thems the breaks i guess 

TG: my lifes pretty good otherwise apart from the impending doom 

TG: anyways ill see you next week we can discuss all this shit then if you like 

TG: this was just supposed to be a quick morning bullshit jamboree not a stern symposium on feelings and shit 

TG: and this dude needs my opinion on which flavoured lubes we should sell 

TG: ill bring you some of what we decide on 

TG: *wink* 

TT: Okay, David. Take care of yourself. 

TT: We love you. 

TG: loves you too babes 

turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist[TT]

After the morning’s asshole parade, the fresh-ish air of the street is a release. Sauntering across the tarmac to pick up a sandwich and some AJ (yet another thing I won’t let my assistant do for me, seriously, it’s the only break I get all day), I spot one of my people standing next to my car. It’s the guy who monitors the tracker, and he’s yelling at the top of his lungs at a short guy who appears to be affixing a ticket to the windscreen. I start jogging over, waving my hands frantically at the guy (Mike, or Rob or something?), which seems to stop his tirade. The little meter maid doesn’t look any happier, though. He’s still glaring out at the world from beneath his stupid hat, scowling through black bangs as if he wishes everyone in the world would just shrivel up and die. 

“Ok, dude, just let him put the ticket on! I parked illegally so its fine!” I yell at Bob, hoping he’ll just fuck off back to the little office where he watches a blinking red dot on a map all day. 

He nods, and I catch the momentary sneer beneath his dark glasses; this guy hates my fucking guts. He can join the other billion or so people in the Strider-hate-club, for all I care. While I was telling Doug to piss off, the attendant has retrieved a yellow boot from his van and is wrapping it around my front wheel. Not cool. The ticket was fine, but I need to use this shitheap to get home. The little guy jumps out of his skin when I tap him on the shoulder, and glares up at me, scowl set on kill. Even standing up he only reached to just below my shoulder, which adds to the humour of his angry disposition. Clearly he’s the Napolean of the Upper-West Side. Ruler of an empire of illegally parked cars.

“Chill, man, I’ll pay the ticket. Put two on it if you want, just don’t make me spend hours speaking to the asshats at traffic to get someone to come remove the boot.”

He huffs and continues incarcerating my car, seemingly taking great pleasure in slamming the padlock shut. 

“Dude, c’mon. Don’t make me hang around in the asshole district any longer than necessary. I’m not one for being all like “don’t you know who I am”, but, like, don’t you? It’s on the number plate and everything. I can literally pay you whatever you want to take that thing off my car, no questions asked.”

I’m not pissed at him, for some reason. He’s only doing his job, after all, and I parked like an asshole. When he stands up, flipping me the bird with both hands, laughter bursts uncontrollably from my mouth. Most people fall over themselves to suck up to me these days, even the ones that openly despise me. 

“Okay, hilarious! What crawled up your ass this morning, little dude?” I ask, grinning. 

He takes a deep breath, ready to launch into a diatribe of epic proportions. I’m struck by his face, by the big, dark eyes beneath the thick eyebrows. He looks Hispanic, maybe? Definitely something other than Caucasian. And hot, even though he looks like he wants to flay the skin off my body. Just as I prepare myself to be well and truly schooled, he lets the air out again and turns on his heel. He walks away in a composed manner, checking the meters calmly. Damn. I want to chase after him, but that might seem a little desperate. The only reasons to care are that the sight of his ass in those little summer-uniform shorts is fucking breathtaking, and it's honestly been years since anyone gave me that kind of sass. Sign me up for masochists anonymous, because apparently that's what I'm into. I don’t care how many times I have to park illegally; I’m getting that guy’s number.

It should take my mind off the inevitable death of the human race, at least for a while. 


	2. Flowers for Charlie

Regaining consciousness in the morning is always a shock, like being pulled against my will into a different reality. Before I’m fully awake, I roll over and feel for the person I know should be there. The bed is empty, cold. He must be in the bathroom or something. Eyes closed, I wait for the sound of a flush or the light clicking off, for the soft sound of feet on the thick carpet. As my brain rearranges itself, adjusting to the bed and the feeling of cool air on my face, I remember I’m alone. I’ve always been alone. The ache in my chest is worse than usual, and for a second I feel like crying. Opening my eyes is a mistake. Not that there’s anything wrong with my bedroom, with its framed SBaHJ prints and large sash windows. It’s just that my ephemeral mental image of whoever I’m expecting to see never survives the light hitting my retinas. Maybe it’s to do with my stupid red eyes, which are sensitive as shit to the sunlight. 

Shades in place, I wander to the kitchen and make some coffee with the complex, overpriced machine. It takes a minute of scrolling through tweets on my phone before I realize something: this time I was sure it was a “him”. For half my life, it’s just been a nebulous “someone”. Well, that narrows the search down by 50%. Only four billion people left to sift through. Maybe talking to Rose has shaken something loose in the back of my brain, and I’m having an actual breakthrough. Most likely, though, it’s just wishful thinking inspired by my angry little crush. A week of parking my car on the curb and watching it like a hawk while the executives file in and out of my office like a rotating asshole carousel has produced no further sightings. Instead, I’ve had three tickets and a couple of requests to send my underwear to some creepy dude in the Bronx. I’m kinda kicking myself for not following him, at least to slip him one of the few cards I have with my actual personal details on them. Even if I never heard back from him, at least It would have been something. 

It’s been years since I’ve been this obsessed with anyone, ever since my only real relationship went down in flames. The gorgeous lawyer who’d prosecuted one of my many charges of public indecency had gotten more than she’d bargained for when I’d asked her out. She’d turned me down, obviously, but eventually, circuitously, we ended up in a position of pleasingly private indecency. Waking up next to Rezi had never felt wrong, unlike all the other people I’ve brought home over the years, and for a while I thought my stupid soulmate-search was over. But after a year had rolled around, I’d started pushing her away. Unconsciously at first, forgetting to meet her for lunch and arranging meetings at stupid times. Slowly, it had become deliberate. Being with her had started to feel itchy, uncomfortable. She was brilliant and beautiful, and despite myself I still miss her. In the end, I’d driven her straight into the arms of another man, one of the ICP campaign’s political staff. I didn’t even cry when she left, throwing ironic ornaments and screaming that I wouldn’t know how to be happy if I had the world on a fucking plate. The tears had come later. 

Sitting around in my boxers reading my fan-feeds isn’t getting me anywhere, I need to get my ass in gear. There’s a pile of crates in the corner that need to be shipped to Houston today, and I’ve got editing to do on the latest movie. The day should actually be bearable; the thought of meeting Rose and Kanaya for dinner tonight will carry me through my meetings and chores. I drink my coffee, take a shower, and throw on one of my summer suits. The red one with the card-suit lapels today, I think. I look like an ass, but that’s totally the point. When I pull up outside the office, sticking the car so close to the hydrant it’s practically touching, I hope I can top off the day with a sighting of my elusive little meter-maid. If he’s working there’s no way he can ignore such flagrant bad parking. 

Today’s work is actually interesting, going over the cuts of the latest couple of movies, deciding where to splice them together for maximum irony. In the end, we decide to chop them both in half and smoosh them together into two Frankenstein creations. It'll be fun seeing how long it takes the fans to notice. The afternoon’s appointments look promising too, a brainstorming session with the summer interns on how to appeal to today’s audiences. I love doing shit like that; it’s nice to get away from all the jaded film execs and into a room with some real people. As I’m spooling through footage, I hear the sound of heavy machinery from the street. Glancing out of the window reveals that my car’s being towed, but I don’t give a shit because there’s an angry little miracle standing next to the truck with his arms folded. I’m running for the stairs and out onto the street before I can even think of what I’m going to say to him. 

Out of breath, sweaty and disheveled, I couldn’t be further from my usual suave self. His glare doesn’t lose any of its intensity when a cab nearly slams into me as I cross the street. Admittedly, I didn’t look both ways. I didn't look anywhere except his face. When I’m finally standing in front of him, panting, my mind goes totally blank. He’s just as fucking hot as I remember, the dumb uniform is sexy in so many ways it really shouldn’t be. His expectant expression is killing me. Think, Strider. Say something, anything. 

“Hey dude. Towing my car, eh?” Smooth. Real smooth. 

“Yeah, cool guy. I’m towing your car. Or rather, I’m watching this asshole tow your car so he doesn’t scratch the shit out of it. Not that you’d be able to tell.” 

Was that a little hint of a smile on his face? Probably satisfaction at finally screwing over the guy who keeps parking like a dick, but nevertheless, I’ll take it. 

“Cool.” I reply. Can’t really think of anything else to say when those big, brown eyes are on me. 

“Cool? Really? I knew your movies were the work of someone with glaring mental deficiencies, but I didn’t know they were this serious. My condolences, Strider.” 

Shit, he does know who I am. And he’s insulting me to my face. This is so fucking weird and awesome at the same time. 

“Well, no, not really, cause now I’ll have to get a gross overpriced cab all the way home, but at least I don’t need to park on the curb anymore.” 

“Why?" he retorts, "Because you no longer have a car?” 

He looks pleased with himself about that, although I don’t know why I think that because his face hasn’t moved a muscle. His accent is hard to place, not southern like mine but not a local twang either. Here goes nothing, I guess. 

“No, because I got to talk to you, man. You left without saying jack shit last time you ticketed me.” 

Those beautiful eyes are rolling so hard in his skull, I’m afraid they’re going to fall out. 

“If you’ve been parking like an ass just so I’d come back and talk to you, you’re even more stupid than I thought. Also, I’m leaving because that’s the saddest and creepiest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Shit, that was a bit of a creepy thing to admit. I’ve basically been setting bait for him. 

“What, no. Okay, maybe. Yes. But not in a creepy way, I promise. I just wanted to give you this,” I stammer, handing him a card and suddenly feeling like a teenager all over again, “it’s my contacts. You don’t have to use them if you don’t want to, and I know you’re probably thinking “what the fuck” but I dunno, it was nice to talk to someone who isn’t trying to kiss my ass so hard they end up inside it.” 

He looks like he’s about to tell me to fuck off, but he takes the little piece of card anyway. It occurs to me that I don’t know anything about him, he could be straight, could be married with kids for all I know, although he looks too young for a picket fence and a dog. Late twenties, probably, judging by the little creases under his eyes and the flawlessness of the rest of his skin. Even if he is into dudes, he’s probably got a nice boyfriend and a couple of cats in a little flat in Queens. I’m making a total idiot out of myself. 

“OK, well, it’s not every day that I get to tow a celebrity’s car and also get their number, however questionable their celebrity status. I guess this one goes to the head of the competition for weirdest day ever. But yeah, I could stand to insult you some more, if you like. It’s not as if you make it difficult.” 

Well, that was certainly more promising than the tirade I'd been expecting, and his mouth had definitely twitched when he'd mentioned getting my number. Whether from suppressed amusement at the fact that an S-list celebrity just propositioned him (the anecdote he'll tell his boyfriend/girlfriend/pansexual love commune/group of friends already forming in his brain), or because he's genuinely flattered, I can't tell. The fact that he mentioned insulting me again is definitely good, though, and I can feel my emotions starting to wake from hibernation a little. I might actually care whether he chooses to get in touch. As in, a lot. He seems more than a little amused by the fact I obviously can't think of anything to say. 

"Cool." I reply, moronically. 

He honest-to-God snorts at that, and rewards me with a little smirk. 

"Here's a fucking preview, Strider: you look like an ass in that ridiculous clown suit. Not that this hasn't been entertaining, but not all of us have so little to do that we can stand around all day making chit-chat. I've got places to go and douchebags to ticket. Here's your receipt for the tow - you've got a week to pick it up before it gets crushed into something marginally shittier than its current state." 

With that, the tow-truck pulls away and he wanders off down the street, ticket pad in hand. That uniform really isn't flattering, it shouldn't make him look good. It even has a fucking fanny-pack for crying out loud. Swap the peaked cap for a bicycle helmet and you'd have the perfect comedy stereotype of the overly-officious civic dictator, enforcing his will on the defenseless car-population of Manhattan with an iron fist. So why can't I stop staring at him? When he's about 20 feet from me, he glances back over his shoulder, and I quickly look away. Shit, be more obvious, Strider. 

Sauntering back to the building as casually as I can, I climb the stairs to the office, wondering how to explain my emergency exit to my editors. I get a little round of applause when I re-enter the room, and I realize they just watched the whole thing through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Most of them seem genuinely amused that I got my ass towed after years of terrible parking, and I can't really disagree. I let them have this one. We settle back into the important business of adding tasteful jpeg artifacts to the final cut of SBaHJ: The Moiovie, and I decide to let Todd find out about the towing incident from the little dot on his screen. A special gift from me to you, buddy. Enjoy your lovely walk in the sunshine down to the impound lot, and good luck getting the car back without the receipt. 

Somehow, Ted does manage to free the car, because my assistant informs me that it's downstairs in the lot when I request that she call a cab. She grins when I ask her to send a bunch of flowers down to the little room Tim sits in all day, with a card inscribed "My Night In Shining Arrmor" nestled in the arrangement. That should get his goat a little, while at the same time making it difficult to claim I'm being a dick. Not many people send sarcastic flowers. I ask my assistant what his name actually is, and am surprised to learn it's Christian. Now I just need to find someone that can tell me what her name is, because I have no idea. Names have never been my strong suit, and I realize don't even know Sassy's name. And yet I trusted him enough to give him my real info. For all I know, he could just stick it all on the internet, and I'll die tragically beneath an avalanche of fan/hate correspondence. Still, I think it was worth the risk. I instruct her to address the flowers to "Charles".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave is totally driving Sweet Dee's shitty red car.  
> Waking up premise shamelessly stolen from Memento.


	3. Basking in the reflected glow

I barely have enough time to get home, shower, get changed into something less garish, and make it to the restaurant that Rose has chosen. Good thing I never lose track of time. The last time I picked a venue, I took them to dinner at Planet Hollywood in Times Square (I secretly wanted to see their display of my shitty memorabilia, which was the only reason the girls indulged me), and we were mercilessly photographed all evening while eating our terrible cheesesteaks. Since then I’ve been forbidden from having a say. She’s selected a fish restaurant, The Amphora, which is supposedly one of the undiscovered treasures of Mid-town. It's a nice enough little place, royally overpriced, but the modernist-italian decor is tasteful and the wine selection is top-notch. 

Rose and the waiter let out identical little sighs when I order my usual apple juice. She doesn't know about the weeks I spent drinking myself half to death after Rezi left, and I intend to keep it that way. Thankfully she smiles and attributes it to my ironic soul. The waiter isn't so generous, however, and barely conceals his sneer when I order a steak. I lost my taste for fish years ago, but my poor menu choice obviously leaves a bitter one in his mouth. If course, it's possible my reputation just precedes me. I'm glad when he leaves, taking his stupid purple-streaked hipster haircut back to the kitchen. 

Seeing Rose and Kanaya so happy together always cheers me up, while at the same inducing twisting waves of a jealousy I can barely admit to. Years of denial didn't help me any, so now I acknowledge that I'd cut off my right foot to have what they have. Kanaya is as radiant and graceful and ageless as ever, her dark hair cut into a classic pixie-cut. Her fringe falls into her deep, dark eyes from time to time, and she sweeps it back with a hand covered in intricate decoration. It's Porrim's wedding next week, and the henna is fresh on her coffee-coloured skin. Rose has been decorated as well, and I notice she's had little tentacles worked into the designs, which stand out starkly on her pale hands. Her golden hair is shoulder-length, as it has been since we were twelve, but she seems to be taking a cue from Kanaya with her makeup, giving her a distinctly goth-chic look. Maybe she'll get some colour under the Indian sun, because at the moment she's as pale as I am. As pale as we were as kids, when we used to joke about being long-lost brother and sister. 

The chatter about weddings and creative projects eventually swings around, as I knew it would, to the subject of my mental health. Rose majored in psychology, so it's with more relish than I'd like that she dissects the reasons I've been missing someone who's never existed. Her theories range from the serious: Desire for love from the mother I never knew; the crushing abandonment of being an orphan (both issues she shares, I counter), to the silly: I'm being haunted by a fan who died of a heart attack while masturbating to my picture; I'm so sexually frustrated it's become a mental condition, but none of it is really helping. I keep my epiphany that it's a dude I've been searching for to myself, because I don't want an in-depth discussion of my sexuality right now. 

Her acceptance that I've always been attracted to both genders has been unquestioning, but I know she'd jump at the chance to jokingly imply that I've been gay all along. That the person in my bed represented my latent homosexuality, and I've been in denial in order to convince my female fans they've got a shot with me. Or that I'm just desperate to have someone put the D in Dave Strider. In order to divert her from the rich vein of psychoanalysis she's currently excavating, I mention apropos of nothing that I gave out my personal number and contact details to a hot meter-maid whose name I don't even know. 

Instead of the laughs I expect, both of them turn serious. Grim, even. Rose reaches out and touches my hand gently. 

"David," she says, looking at me like I've just told her I took a bunch of drugs and passed out in a hotel room (again), "That was a very stupid thing to do. You don't know this person, don't even know his name. He could be a stalker or a reporter or one of You-Know-Who's agents. Please, promise me you won't meet this person. Or, because I know you will anyway, at least take one of your bodyguards with you." 

She sighs deeply at the face I make when the bodyguards are mentioned. After giving them the slip each and every time the company sent them to babysit me, they stopped trying. Her hand pinches the bridge of her nose, a familiar gesture of frustration that seems to be reserved exclusively for me. 

"You're a celebrity, David. You can't go around acting like a stupid teenager. It's very self-destructive, and it gets exhausting having to act as your sense of self-preservation." 

The atmosphere turns chilly as I gently extract my hand from hers, moving it to my lap where it kneads and worries at the napkin across my knees. Being caught in the tractor-beam of Rose's judgemental stare isn't exactly a new experience, but this time it fills me with a burning combination of shame and anger. 

"Look, Rose, I'm a grown-ass adult and I'd appreciate it if you'd just back the fuck off and let me make my own mistakes. I think I know how to recognise a creep or a journalist after over a decade of being harassed by them. Unlike your NPR-listening, elbow-patch wearing literasshole followers, mine tend to have an intellectual level similar to my own. As in they're all fucking morons." 

I take a deep breath, trying to keep the volume of my speech below the desperate scream that it wants to be. 

"And besides, what the hell do I need a sense of self preservation for? We all know we're on borrowed fucking time as it is. The other shoe is about to drop so hard it'll cause a tidal wave that'll wipe out every major city on the face of the Earth. Boom, goodbye civilisation, it was nice knowin ya. Humanity is boned, Rose. I might as well spend what's left of my pointless life trying to achieve the same goal." 

Kanaya clears her throat, and when I look up from the ball of napkin crushed tightly in my hand, both of their eyes are filled with concern. 

"We just care about you, that's all. You're family, Dave, and we love you. If he hurts you then I may have to go after him with a chainsaw, and you can imagine how difficult it is to get bloodstains out of couture." 

I suggest buying her some waterproof overalls so that she can rampage in style and comfort, and we settle back into our usual easy banter over dinner. My steak is good, rare like I asked for, and with no detectable trace of waiter sputum. The girls enjoy their swordfish, and after dessert when I pick up the cheque (my treat, naturally), they invite me the show they're headed to. It's a late-night retrospective on some cornball comedian, and although it isn't my usual scene, I feel like basking in the glow of human contact a little longer before returning to my empty apartment. To my empty life. 

I get more than a few scornful looks from the clientèle of the tiny theatre, who obviously think I should be somewhere else destroying human culture with my terrible media. Sitting in the double-darkness behind my shades, I can hear a few people whispering my name, more whispering Rose's. I hope Kanaya doesn't feel left out, although I doubt she does. Her ambition in life is simply to make beautiful things, and I admire her for it. When the movie starts, complete with a pair red velvet curtains, I realise I'm actually enjoying it. 

The comedian, some cheerful old crackpot named John Sassacre, bumbles about on stage telling the kind of vaudevillian jokes that went out of style half a century ago. But his sheer enthusiasm is infectious, and when the magic acts begin the crowd loses it, both here and in the old footage. They're a comedic triumph, every single one failing to land in a completely unexpected way. By the time he pulls a rabbit wearing a top hat out of its poorly concealed hiding-place in his magic podium thingy, and then lifts the hat to reveal the crucial card he lost in an earlier trick, I can barely breathe. Rose and Kanaya are similarly incapacitated, and I wish for a fleeting second that we could have seen this guy on stage, or that I could have incorporated him into one of my movies somehow. He seems like the sort who would have jumped at the chance. As the flick reaches the end of his greatest hits, a card flashes up showing the date of his death: 4/13/1996. We were little kids, and I bet we would've been crushed if we'd known who he was at the time. 

I kiss the girls goodbye after the show, and get a warm group-hug from both of them that should keep me going on the physical contact front for a while. After the cab drops me at my doorstep, I spend a few fruitless hours browsing around the internet and failing to resist the urge to check pesterchum every five minutes. I really am acting like a goddamn teenager, but I don’t give a shit. At one A.M., I give up the fight against sleep and crawl into bed. Either he isn't interested, or he's a damn sight better at playing things cool than I am. The irony of that sends me off to sleep like a lullaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John grew up to be Tommy Cooper, you guys. He was frigging hilarious.


	4. They said I could get dressed

My phone drags me rudely back to life, and I wake cursing the excessive loudness quotient of its ringer. He’s not here, and I get a stab of panic in my chest when I realise the phone is ringing at 4 A.M. There’s never a good reason to call so early. Instead of the coroner or the hospital, the grating voice of my assistant greets me when I scramble to answer it. 

“Good morning Mr. Strider!” She trills, way too chirpy for this early in the morning, “This is the wake-up call for your flight to Houston, which leaves at 6.30am from Betty Crocker International Spaceport. A car will be with you in thirty minutes to pick you up. Have a nice day, sir!” 

Goddamn. It is too fucking early for this shit, and my heart is still racing from the shock of being woken. I’d completely forgotten I was due to fly out to Texas today. The bleary headache dominating my brain is joined by the crushing depression that accompanies my pilgrimages back to my home-town. Insofar as I ever had a home there, it’s my first apartment, the one I rented when I made my first shaky steps out of the children’s home and into the real world. It used to evoke happy memories of days spent working in coffee shops and supermarkets, nights spent drawing and editing my ironic masterpieces. My roommate had had dibs on the only bedroom, and I’d slept on the living-room futon for two years. When the asshole had finally moved out, I’d kept on living alone. Sentiment had driven me to buy the place when I hit it big, and for a while it had been a little bolt-hole, an escape from the increasingly suffocating press harassment. 

That had all been shattered when I’d opened the cerise folder that had showed up in my in-tray, and nearly choked to death on the accompanying glitter-embolism. The note had begun: 

“Yo shades boi, 

you gonna do some shit for me or your goth gurlfrond is gonna end up dead.” 

From there it had become a series of bizarre instructions. I was to buy up the whole building in Houston, and set about preparing for the arrival of someone, at some point in the future. Normally I’d rather fuck myself with one of my sharpest swords than do anything for the Batterwitch, but Rose had received a similar note threatening me, and had phoned me in tears. Her note had contained rather more detail about what she wanted to do to me first, none of which would have been pretty even in a consensual setting. Either way, we’d agreed it was pointless to risk our lives to prevent her from pimping out a pair of homes. 

Rose’s dreams had supplied the rest of the info, she’s always had some kind of spooky eldritch powers that I’ve never tried to explain. The first time she’d been able to tell me what I was wearing from the other side of the country had nearly blown my fucking mind, despite the fact I owned a grand total of three t-shirts, and had kicked the teenage crush I had on her into warp speed. She was the first to wake up to the knowledge that the planet Earth was doomed, even before the re-branding. 

According to the eldritch spirit hotline, the apartment and house are intended for our successors, a pair of infants who aren’t exactly our kids but something close. I’ve always thought of mine as my little bro, and imagining him showing up alone, long after the apocalypse has wiped humanity off the map, makes me sick with misery. Rose is convinced that our progeny will be fine, that they’ll make it to whatever shitty excuse for an adulthood they’ll have in an empty world. She even thinks they’ll find each other, somehow. I can’t see it, myself. All I can see is a tiny child crying and crying with no-one to comfort him. In the worst of my nightmares, the crying gets weaker and weaker, before giving way to humanity’s final silence. It’s a fate I could have shared, if kind hands hadn’t scooped me up and carried me to the place that would raise me as best it could. 

Grabbing a few bits and shoving them into a hold-all, I drag myself into a semi-fit state to go out in public. Showering helps, but nothing can change the fact it’s still fucking dark outside. The limo ride to the spaceport is interminable, my depression deepening as we pass the gigantic trident at the entry gate. Sitting in the lounge watching the lumbering red ships taking off is a stark reminder of how much the world has changed in the past few years. Manhattan is like a cultural island these days, a place where the rich and famous go to hide from the insidious Crockercorp influence that has undermined the rest of society. I’m trying to figure out if it’s OK to pester Rose (it’s still only 5.30 but she gets up early sometimes), when my phone starts vibrating. The ringer has been sent to the doghouse until my migraine fades. My heart skips a beat when I spot an unfamiliar name in my chat client. 

carcinoGeneticist[CG] began pestering turntechGodhead[TG] 

CG: HELLO STRIDER. 

CG: I ASSUME YOU’RE STILL ASLEEP UNDER A PILE OF BRAINDEAD, NAKED FANS RIGHT NOW, BUT THIS IS JUST TO GIVE YOU MY CONTACT NAME. 

CG: I REFUSE TO REFER TO IT AS A "CHUMHANDLE" 

CG: I’LL LET YOU RETURN TO YOUR DEPRAVITY. 

TG: nah man im awake 

TG: sup 

CG: OH. 

CG: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING AWAKE AT THIS HOUR? NOTHING YOU DO COULD BE REALISTICALLY DESCRIBED AS AN ACTUAL “JOB”. 

TG: gotta catch a plane 

TG: otherwise youd be spot on with your initial assessment 

TG: about being asleep i mean 

TG: you can replace the fans with blankets and such 

CG: I SEE. I DON’T KNOW IF I BELIEVE YOU, THOUGH. 

CG: HOW MANY TIMES WERE YOU ARRESTED FOR BEING NAKED IN THE STREET, AFTER HOTEL MANAGEMENT THREW YOU OUT FOR HOSTING SEX PARTIES? 

TG: it was only three times dude 

TG: they said i could get dressed 

TG: well they pretty much begged me to 

TG: but it was all a naked protest against some bullshit or other 

TG: plus it was my agents idea anyway 

TG: getting your ass on the front page of the papers sells a lot of movie tickets 

CG: IF YOU SAY SO, STRIDER. 

TG: anyways im as chaste as a slammin hot angel these days 

TG: as clean as the snow on the last frozen bit of the north pole 

TG: as pure as your burning hatred for illegally parked vehicles 

CG: YES, I ADMIT YOUR GENITALS HAVE BEEN ABSENT FROM THE PAPERS FOR A WHILE. 

TG: good to know youve been following my nude exploits 

TG: i got no surprises for you, huh 

TG: uh 

TG: dude sorry 

TG: its really early and that was totally inappropriate 

TG: i think my brain is still back at my apartment screaming with rage at how fucking stupid i am 

CG: IT’S FINE. I EXPECTED THIS LEVEL OF SCINTILLATING CONVERSATION FROM YOU. 

CG: YOUR MOVIES ARE PRETTY MUCH AN HOUR AND A HALF OF BEING BLUDGEONED TO DEATH WITH HEAVY-HANDED INNUENDO. 

TG: youve seen my movies then 

CG: YES. I’VE HAD THE UNFORTUNATE PLEASURE. 

CG: LOOK, I HAVE TO GO TO WORK. I LITERALLY DON’T HAVE TIME TO CHAT. 

TG: ok i dont wanna make you late or whatever 

TG: go show those cars whos boss in your cute uniform 

TG: sorry again 

TG: just preface all my statements with “sorry” 

CG: STRIDER. 

CG: I GET THE IMPRESSION YOU WANT TO ASK ME OUT, BUT ARE INCREDIBLY FUCKING INEPT AT IT. 

CG: AND SINCE YOU SPENT A NORMAL PERSON'S EQUIVALENT OF A FORTUNE ON PARKING TICKETS, I SHOULD PROBABLY PUT YOU OUT OF YOUR MISERY. 

TG: shit that doesnt sound good 

CG: WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO OUT SOMETIME? 

TG: oh 

TG: yeah obviously 

CG: GLAD WE COULD CONDUCT OURSELVES LIKE ADULTS. 

TG: id use a smiley or something but this isnt 1998 

TG: imagine i am smiling handsomely 

TG: aka grinning like an idiot 

CG: BYE, STRIDER. 

CG: WE CAN SORT OUT DETAILS LATER. 

TG: wait man 

TG: whats your name 

CG: I’M TEMPTED NOT TO TELL YOU. 

TG: go on 

TG: you know you want to 

TG: dont leave me hanging like that 

CG: NO, I THINK I WILL. 

CG: SPEAK LATER. 

carcinoGeneticist[CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG] 

carcinoGeneticist[CG] is now an idle chum 

I board the plane with a giant fucking grin on my face, and spend the flight in a dreamy haze of imagined first-dates. My mystery man is smart and funny as well as attractive, and unbelievably he didn’t sign off the minute I started talking to him. The worry that Rose is right, that this is too good to be true, is sitting deep in the pit of my stomach, underlying the euphoria. He could so easily be a set-up, a plant. It would be easy enough to search through my history of indiscretions and create a profile of my perfect date. This feels different, though. I could just be being a naiive idiot, but shit. What do I have to lose? When the wheels of the big, red aircraft touch down in Houston, I’m reminded that we're headed for the end of the world as we know it. And yet, today, I finally feel fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for gratuitous the REM reference.


	5. Irony's aftertaste will rock you to sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ll leave you my swords and shades  
> I’ll put all my good into one place  
> and irony's aftertaste  
> will rock to you sleep, my babe  
> ~ The Path - PhemieC ~

The apartment is silent and empty, dust-motes dancing in the intense heat of the Texan sunlight. There are boxes of stuff everywhere, half of them emblazoned with the dreaded trident symbol. The building’s super has been instructed to let in any new deliveries, but he’s the only one besides me, Rose, and my imperial benefactor who knows this place exists. Dumping my bag on the floor, I start the drudgery of opening and unpacking. Most of the Crockercorp junk is completely inexplicable in function, and today’s most puzzling is a red doohicky that looks like a microwave without a door. The rest are fairly transparently robot parts, although I’m fucked if Crocker wants me to assemble them. I don’t know squat about anything more complicated than a mixing deck. I stick them all in a cupboard, nice and high up so that questing baby hands won’t reach them. 

I’ve been avoiding even looking at any of the other boxes, things I sent over myself to try to make junior’s life more bearable. They’re the last piece of the puzzle. Otherwise the apartment is set up the way I had it when I lived here, plus the bizarre alien additions. The furniture is kind of shitty and the place is tiny, but it still has a faint echo of home about it. Flopping down on the pile of mattresses that serves as a bed, I seek moral support for the task ahead. 

turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist[TT] 

TG: i cant do it rose its too hard 

TT: What is, David? Are you struggling to find your posterior with both hands again? 

TG: ha ha im dumb i get it 

TG: houston is whats hard rose 

TG: poor little dudes gonna to die and theres nothing i can do 

TT: He isn’t. I know you don’t believe me, but he will survive. 

TT: He’ll have friends to keep him going, I promise. 

TG: but hell be a baby rose 

TG: not a baby rose you know what I mean 

TG: a baby, rose 

TG: hows he gonna feed himself 

TG: no ones gonna come when he cries 

TG: hes never gonna know love rose 

TG: never even have a fucking hug 

TT: Dave. Calm down. 

TT: I’ve seen him alive, in my dreams. 

TT: It will be OK. 

TG: growing up all alone is not fucking ok rose 

TT: He won’t be alone. Not really. 

TT: My descendent will be there, and I have reason to suspect two others as well. 

TG: two others 

TT: Yes. 

TT: Do you remember when the house of the Condesce’s heiress was destroyed by a meteor? 

TG: yeah vaguely poor kid got squashed right 

TG: all very sad etc 

TG: batterwitch didnt seem to care though 

TT: There was another meteor strike on the same day, on a Pacific island that was thought to be uninhabited. 

TT: I have had visions of a young boy living on that island. 

TG: so he got smooshed by a fiery deathball too 

TT: No. 

TT: I have reason to believe the boy and the heiress exited this reality altogether, accompanied by our progeny. 

TT: The Condesce wants us to do all of this to ensure that it will happen, although in many ways it already has. 

TT: The temporal loop is already complete. 

TT: That is how I know they will survive. Your "brother" and my "daughter." 

TG: ok im getting off the loony bus here before we reach mental breakdown meadows 

TG: we passed crazytown and flipout junction a few hours back 

TG: gonna bed down here in whatthefuck city 

TT: You don’t have to believe me, David. Just make sure your apartment is ready. 

TT: You’re wrong when you say that he’ll never know love. 

TT: That’s the whole reason you’re doing this. 

TT: Show him. 

TG: i guess 

TG: swords and movie memorabilia arent a good substitute for hugs though rose 

TT: It’s all we have. 

TG: i know 

TG: enjoy the wedding 

TG: give porrim my best and also my number in case it all falls through 

TT: I will. I’m sure she’ll find it amusing. 

TT: It sounds like you’re the one who needs a hug, David. 

TG: maybe 

TG: bye rose 

TT: Bye, Dave. 

turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist[TT] 

Slowly, reluctantly, I unpack all of the boxes. Tiny clothes and soft toys go into the lower cubbies, larger clothes and weaponry into the higher ones. All of the other things, lifetime supplies of soap, washing powder, towels, toothpaste etc. get stashed away in sensible places. The nuts and bolts of survival, in as comfortable a setting as I can provide. The refrigerator is some kind of weird Crocker-tech, and it happily accepts as much food as I can throw into its slot. I can’t tell how it works; I’ve been feeding it for months and the thing should be rammed solid by now. But the bar on the front only fills to the top when I’ve loaded thousands of dollars of food and drinks into it. Practicalities taken care of, I open the last few boxes of my personal stuff. 

The little puppet things with the long noses, the ones I spotted in a knock-off market in China a few years back, make me smile. They're kind of creepy, but for some reason I think he’ll get a kick out of them. I arrange my best turntables and the brand new computer on the two desks in the bedroom, hoping he’ll enjoy the decks as much as I have. A few of my favourite pairs of shades go into a desk drawer, despite the fact that the future doesn't look too bright from here. The final package, the long poster-tube, holds the jewel in the crown. Opening it, I pull out the beautifully crafted katana I had shipped from Japan. I place it, my hands shaking, on the rack on the wall. It’s finally done. Finished. This is all he’ll ever have of me, and it isn’t very much. I think about leaving him a note, something to explain the tears rolling down my cheeks right now. To tell him that he’s loved, that I wanted more than anything to have the chance to be a parent or a brother or whatever the fuck I am to him. In the end I chicken out, my vision swimming and breath ragged in my throat. When I finally walk away from him forever, I don’t even look back . 

Predictably, my flight back to NY is delayed. After a few minutes of aimlessly wandering the terminal, I settle down by the gate to try to become spiritually at-one with the airport purgatory experience. I fail miserably, and pull out my phone to do what I’ve wanted to do for hours. 

turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist[CG] 

TG: yo 

TG: is it later yet 

CG: NO. 

TG: cmon man my flight homes delayed 

TG: i got like another hour of watching texans waddle from one of the four steakhouses in this terminal to the jumbo sized planes they require 

TG: cattle class was never so appropriate 

TG: man there are way more juggalos than i remember too 

CG: WHAT PART OF "NO" DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? 

CG: IT'S A PREREQUISITE OF EVER SEEING ME AGAIN THAT YOU DEMONSTRATE YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS. 

TG: sorry man 

TG: in this case it means stop fucking things up dave 

TG: stop bothering me with your stupid rich kid poblems 

TG: wah the champagne in the vip lounge isnt cold enough 

TG: theyre out of the kind of caviar I like 

TG: the chocolate fountain is only 50 percent cocoa solids 

TG: dont they fucking know who i am 

TG: dave strider doesnt get out of bed for less than 70 percent 

TG: wheres that peacock burger i ordered 

TG: also people in tx are fat I get it 

TG: that about it 

CG: PRETTY MUCH. 

CG: YOU'VE EFFECTIVELY DEMONSTRATED THAT YOU DON'T NEED TO TALK TO ME, YOU CAN HAVE A ONE-MAN WHINGEATHON ALL TO YOURSELF. 

CG: SO I'M GOING TO GET ON WITH SOME ACTUAL WORK. 

CG: ENJOY YOUR CHAMPAGNE ENEMA, STRIDER. 

TG: eugh fizzy 

TG: nah man im just sitting by the gate with all the other regular dudes and dudettes 

TG: im not gonna lie and say i don't fly first class 

TG: im like six four i need the legroom 

TG: but i dont go in the fucking vip lounge 

TG: its like wall to wall pinstripes in there 

TG: you cant even see where the walls end and the dead eyed people begin 

TG: like chameleon by gucci or something 

CG: UGH. 

CG: WILL YOU SHUT UP IF I AGREE TO TALK TO YOU FOR TEN MINUTES. 

TG: yes 

TG: probably 

CG: FIVE MINUTES. 

TG: ok ten minutes it is 

CG: SO WHY AREN'T YOU BEING MOBBED BY TEENAGE GIRLS RIGHT NOW, SINCE YOU'VE SEEN FIT TO DESCEND FROM OLYMPUS AND SIT AMONGST THE MERE MORTALS? 

TG: im wearing normal person clothes and a different pair of shades 

TG: thats all it takes man 

TG: cultural messiah to anonymous douchebag in one easy step 

TG: dont need to be turning into a swan or anything 

CG: JEGUS, STRIDER. 

CG: YOUR GOD COMPLEX IS EVEN WORSE THAN I DARED IMAGINE. 

TG: jegus? 

CG: SHIT, I MEANT JESUS. 

CG: IT'S JUST A STUPID IN-JOKE BETWEEN ME AND MY FRIENDS. 

TG: guess im one of your friends now huh 

TG: wanna play hopscotch and build a fort 

TG: only one rule in the fort 

TG: no girls allowed man 

CG: SOMEHOW IT DOESN'T SURPRISE ME YOUR MENTAL DEVELOPMENT STOPPED AT AGE TEN. 

CG: IT IS SLIGHTLY REASSURING THAT YOU OWN CLOTHES THAT DON'T COME FROM THE BARGAIN RAIL AT PIMPS'R'US, THOUGH. 

CG: I WAS AFRAID I'D HAVE TO COMMIT SEPPUKU IF I HAD TO EXPERIENCE ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR CUSTOMARY SARTORIAL TRAINWRECKS. 

TG: shit are you the fashion police as well as the car police 

TG: this is a fucking sting operation isnt it 

TG: youve been ordered to arrest my poor innocent suits 

TG: they just want to be loved man 

TG: its not their fault they were born excessively brightly coloured 

CG: YOU HAD THOSE FUCKING THINGS CUSTOM MADE DIDN'T YOU? 

TG: naturally 

CG: LOOK, STRIDER, DID YOU ACTUALLY HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY WHEN YOU STARTED TALKING TO ME? 

CG: OR ARE YOU JUST GOING TO KEEP SPRAYING VERBAL DIARRHOEA IN MY DIRECTION LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW? 

TG: yeah dude 

TG: tell me your name already 

CG: WHAT IF I DON'T FEEL LIKE IT? 

TG: man youre such a name tease 

TG: im gettin blue ears over here 

TG: theyre just waiting for the sweet caress of your syllables 

CG: THAT'S DISTURBING IN WAYS I CAN'T QUITE EXPLAIN. 

TG: ill just start guessing if you dont 

TG: is it mickey 

TG: as in youre so fine you blow my mind 

TG: or leila 

TG: because you got me on my knees begging dude 

TG: darlin pleeeeease 

TG: etc 

CG: STOP. 

TG: k now i think it might be frankie 

TG: cause you appear to want me to relax 

CG: GODDAMN IT. 

CG: I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE. 

TG: are you saying its delilah 

TG: no wait it was tom jones who couldnt take any more 

TG: is it tom jones 

TG: you are a sex bomb after all 

CG: FUCK. PLEASE FUCKING STOP. 

TG: you know how to make it stop 

CG: OK, FINE. 

CG: YOU WIN. 

CG: IT'S 

carcinoGeneticist[CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG] 

TG: touche you beautiful bastard 

TG: check fucking mate 

turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist[CG] 

I board the plane with a grin on my face when I realize I kept him talking for twenty-five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to any Texans. Dave isn't in a very charitable mood.


	6. Holding back the inevitable

I sink into plush seating and let the world shift beneath me, as the hum of jet engines carries me home. Texas was a shock to the system, the blistering heat a reminder of the irreversible damage done to the planet. Houston is in bad shape, crumbling buildings and cracked roads showing the wear and tear of a decade of neglect. Red trident banners hanging limply in the dead air and the sight of formerly middle-class Americans wearing suits and Juggalo makeup had made the bile rise in my throat. The fact that I can escape it all, go back to my semi-normal life in denial city, doesn’t make it easier to look at the ruins of my childhood. 

As the plane starts to descend, the sunset through the clouds paints an angry red stain on the sky, toxins in the atmosphere refracting the light until it’s the colour of fresh blood. The colour of the alien culture that’s slowly tearing ours apart from the inside. When the ship had burst through the clouds above Washington on the day of the re-branding, transmitting Ke$ha music and the notorious clip from Independence Day onto every screen, the surrender had been absolute. When she’d personally executed all of the people in Washington anyway using a titanic psionic blast, the rest of the world had fallen at her feet. 

The media were the only ones selected to thrive in her new world order, an opiate for the masses synthesized from reality-TV and explosion-filled blockbusters, and administered to every home by blaring screens. I’ve been fortunate, more so than most. Rose has had to struggle for everything she’s achieved, her dense, wizardly fiction becoming a surprise sleeper hit amongst the dwindling population of humanity that still read literature. I suspect the only reason she’s still alive is that the Condesce is too lazy to plough through the thousands of pages of overly-wrought prose to spot the liquid centre of subversion at their heart. My continued existence is much easier to explain. Nothing distracts a populace from their inevitable doom better than slapstick, innuendo and childish meta-humor. But I’m not so naïve, I know I’m only a few short paces from the chopping block. As soon as my soporific influence is outweighed by my determination to shake the walking sleepers, wake them up to their fate before it’s too late, I’m as dead as the proverbial doornail. I’ll spend the rest of my days as a tightrope-walker, treading the line between covert and overt rebellion. I’m sure as hell not going to stop trying. I have to try and do something, my soul or my conscience or whatever is pushing me ever closer to danger won’t let me just give up. Just let everything die. 

The limo driver is waiting in the arrivals lounge, the usual coded sign held up to attract my attention. The code isn’t terribly complicated, a different name each time, but all something to do with clocks or timepieces. Today’s, “Tim Clockson” is hardly a brain-teaser. It might be time to shake it up, since the person in charge of thinking them up is clearly getting bored. The limo ghosts through the boroughs surrounding the island, street lighting intermittently revealing apartment buildings and condos. Half of the bulbs are long-gone, and a play park that’s bathed in semi-darkness sends a little shiver of misery through my body. It’s been years since I’ve seen anyone pushing a stroller, since I had a flight disrupted by the confused cries of newborn life. There are still children, but the innocence in their eyes is nearly gone. These days, the sandpits are full of broken glass and cigarette-butts, and no-one bothers to repair the rusted toddler-swings. 

My own sterilisation had taken place over seven years ago, after the mandatory submission of genetic material to the strange insectoid monsters under thrall to the Batterwitch. It had been painless at the time, and I’d even found it amusing when the thing had shown up at my apartment door, taking up most of the hallway and skreeing with a bucket in-hand. It had stood, unmoved, when I’d quipped at it (“don’t you think you should buy me dinner, first?”), and had waved the bucket angrily. I’d taken it, and it had been understandably difficult to bring myself to make a deposit. After an embarrassing few minutes, I’d returned the damn thing (the monster had the cheek to look fucking disappointed, the big ugly creep) and nearly jumped out of my skin when it pointed what looked like a cartoon ray-gun at my crotch. It had pulled the trigger noiselessly, and nothing had happened. But I knew from then on I’d be shooting blanks. I steer my thoughts away from the edge of the whirlpool of feelings centred on my Houston apartment, before I’m sucked under by the ache in my chest. You never know how much you want something until you can’t fucking have it any more. 

The lights of the city are still beautiful as we glide across the Williamsburg Bridge, casting the reflection of a hazy mirror-city suspended in the river. Even now, it looks just as much like a fantasy world as when I first moved here. The only tangible change since the re-branding is the sea-wall around the perimeter of the island, holding back the rising waters of the river and ocean. Holding back the inevitable for just a little while longer. As we pass over it, I feel the comforting insulation it provides wrap itself around me. 

The relief of being home, and the fact I haven’t really eaten today, start to pull me out of my self-indulgent reverie. When I flop down on my living-room futon, stretching out after a long day of lifting and bending and travelling, I flip the TV on and order a pizza. I treat myself to a normal life for a few hours, without alien fish-queens or juggalos or teenagers exiting this plane of reality. The pizza settles comfortably in my stomach, warming me from the inside. I’m dozing off by the light of an old black-and-white movie when my phone buzzes on my chest. 

carcinoGeneticist[CG] began pestering turntechGodhead[TG] 

CG: IT’S KARKAT. MY NAME. 

TG: hey man 

TG: cool 

TG: thanks for not leaving me hanging indefinitely 

TG: howd you pronounce that 

CG: HOW ITS WRITTEN, DUMBASS. 

CG: I’VE HEARD ALL THE JOKES, STRIDER. DON’T EVEN BOTHER. 

TG: jokes what jokes 

TG: cant think of anything funny about the fact your a parking attendant whos name is car cat 

TG: nope it scans as totally serious and unfunny 

CG: I’M SCREAMING INTO A PILLOW RIGHT NOW, JUST IN CASE YOU WONDERED. 

TG: what made you decide to finally let me in on the big secret 

CG: MY ROOMMATE SUGGESTED I SHOULD STOP TEASING THE BAZILLIONAIRE WHO ASKED ME OUT AND START MILKING HIM FOR ALL HE’S WORTH INSTEAD. 

TG: sounds like a smart roommate 

TG: although i do believe you asked me out 

TG: if memory serves you were very forward 

TG: almost gave me a touch of the vapours 

TG: good job i had my fainting couch at hand 

CG: PLEASE, STRIDER. THAT WAS A GESTURE OF PITY. 

CG: I WANTED TO GIVE YOU THE CHANCE TO PROVE YOU AREN’T A COMPLETE CREEP, BEFORE I HAVE TO SUBMIT THE INEVITABLE RESTRAINING ORDER. 

CG: OR POSSIBLY END UP IN PIECES IN THE EAST RIVER. 

CG: IF THE MACHINATIONS REQUIRED TO GIVE ME A PIECE OF FUCKING CARD WITH YOUR NUMBER ON IT WERE AN INDICATION, I’D HAVE BEEN GETTING LEWD, RAMBLING NOTES PINNED TO MY FRONT DOOR FOR MONTHS BEFORE YOU GOT UP THE NERVE TO ASK ME OUT. 

TG: well we’ll never know now 

TG: i definitely burned all of those notes so theres certainly no evidence 

TG: not that im complaining but what made you decide not to just throw the card in the hudson 

TG: my devastating good looks aside 

TG: you seemed like youd rather tell me to impale my junk on an electric fence than ask me out the first time i met you 

CG: I WAS HAVING SOMETHING OF A SHITTY DAY, FOR REASONS I WON’T BE GOING INTO. 

CG: MEDIA COVERAGE OF YOU HAD ALSO LED ME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT YOU WERE A PERFECT EXAMPLE OF A TOTAL ASS. 

CG: BUT THE FACT YOU NEARLY GOT FLATTENED BY A TAXI JUST TO TALK TO ME, AND YOU WERE SO FUCKING ADORABLY AWKWARD, LED ME TO TAKE PITY ON YOU. 

TG: okay what i got from that was im adorable and have a perfect ass 

TG: id be forced to agree with you there it is a work of art 

TG: so when do you want to go out 

CG: WHENEVER, STRIDER. I DON’T WORK ON FRIDAYS, SO THURSDAYS ARE GOOD FOR ME. 

CG: THAT WAY I CAN MAINLINE THE INDUSTRIAL AMOUNT OF ALCOHOL NEEDED TO TOLERATE YOUR COMPANY, WITHOUT HAVING TO EXPERIENCE THE ADDITIONAL TORTURE OF WORKING WHILE HUNG-OVER. 

TG: cool 

TG: thursday is tomorrow though 

TG: is it serial killery of me to suggest i take you for a nice dinner tomorrow? 

CG: NOT ANY MORE SO THAN THE REST OF YOUR BEHAVIOUR. 

TG: nice 

TG: shall i pick you up at eight with a corsage and take you dancing 

CG: FUCK, NO. I’M NOT TELLING YOU WHERE I LIVE, STRIDER. 

TG: oops didnt think of that 

TG: sorry im not trying to be a creep or anything honest 

CG: DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. I DON’T ACTUALLY THINK YOU WANT TO KILL ME, JACKASS. 

CG: I’LL MEET YOU AT THE LOLCAT CAFÉ JUST OFF PARK AVENUE AT SEVEN-THIRTY. 

CG: TRY NOT TO BE ATTIRED LIKE A TODDLER WHO GOT DRESSED IN THE DARK, OR I’LL BE OUT OF THERE FASTER THAN YOU CAN SAY “NO FUCKING WAY.” 

CG: HOW DOES THAT SOUND? 

TG: great 

TG: see you there man 

CG: I’M SURE I’LL SEE YOU FIRST. 

CG: LATER, STRIDER. 

TG: bye karkat 

carcinoGeneticist[CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG] 

Fuck, I’ve got a motherfucking date. For the first time in five years. What the hell do I do now? I want to call Rose, to get some friendly/sisterly advice on how adults are suppose to conduct themselves in relationships. There's no way I want to subject myself to the judgmental avalanche of concern that would set off, however. Bodyguards my ass. The guy is 5'5" max, I don't think he could push me over if he wanted to. And it's hard to set the mood properly when there are two dudes in suits and shades staring at your date awkwardly. I think I want to be the only one, thanks very much. Rezi and I didn’t have a first date, not really, just lots alcohol followed by sex. I can tell it isn’t going to go that way this time, even if Karkat gets as drunk as he implied. I’ll need to be on my best courtly knight behaviour. Smiling, I call my assistant, and ask her to book a table for two at the Amphora. No doubt my friendly waiter won't be too pleased since It’s such short notice, but one of the perks of being a celebrity is that restaurants are never fully booked for Dave Strider.


	7. Surprise me, Dipshit.

I’m early to the office for the first time in years. The car goes straight in the parking lot, in my own space and everything, because who gives a flying fuck today. There’s a little card on my desk when I plonk myself into the leathery embrace of my office chair, and put my feet up on its glassy surface. The card reads:

"Dear Mr Strider,

Thank you so much for the flowers and offer of a ten percent pay rise. Please pass on my best wishes to your lovely wife and child. I hope you enjoy the enclosed Iberico ham.

Best Wishes,

"Charles" "

Fuck. The note has a single quarter folded into it. My assistant sticks her brightly coloured haircut around the door when she hears me spluttering and coughing with laugher. Shit, Christian actually has a sense of humor, a damn good one. I’m going to have to get him to do something more useful around here, since he's wasted on watching blinky all day. I call the assistant in, and ask her to put a request in to raise his pay by twelve percent, and arrange a meeting with him for next week. I also compose a little note to send down to his little room:

"Dear Charlie,

The muffin basket was greatly appreciated by Moribund and the twins, Broseph and Jeffbert.

Felicitations,

The Honorable D Strider"

The rest of the day flies by in a blur, the people whizzing in and out of my office getting more out of me than they usually would. I’m a grinning, manic idiot. I sign off on things left and right, not even reading the documentation. By the afternoon, I’m fairly certain I OK’d a line of sportswear with pictures of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff’s faces on each ass cheek, and some extremely complex looking sex toys. Around four p.m., the euphoria gives way to nerves, and my hands start doing things of their own accord. On three separate occasions, I have to stop myself from taking off my shades so I have something to fiddle with. When I notice everyone in my final meeting of the day is staring at me picking at my four-leaf-clover belt-buckle, I call it a day. Driving home, I narrowly avoid several fender-benders because my mind is not even remotely on the road.

Pacing around my apartment, I realize I’ve tripped over into full-on panic mode. My collection of suits isn’t helping, a rainbow of garish colours staring back at me from the wardrobe. There’s a black tux I wear to award ceremonies, but unless I want to look like I’m going to senior prom I should probably give it a miss. My normal clothes are mostly hoodies and jeans, nothing I can show up to a restaurant or a date in. I dig frantically through the older clothes, looking for something that won’t repel Karkat like an oppositely polarised magnet. Ah, that could work. There’s a suit at the back, black, slim cut, with a broken record emblazoned on the pocket. It’s been a while since I wore it and it’s a little tight, but if anything I guess I should flaunt what I’ve got. I pair it with a black shirt and bright orange tie, admiring the ensemble in the mirror. The rest of the outfit is something special, a surprise for my lucky little date later in the evening.

At 7pm, I try to calm my nerves, wishing I could have a drink. Or ten. The car is clean-ish, but I shove a few items of junk into the trunk anyway. Might as well hide my chronic untidiness for as long as possible. The roads are clearer than I expected, and I end up having to wait around the corner from the café, nervously running my hands through my hair and checking my face in the mirror. There’s nothing more uncool than being early for a date. I consider switching to my incognito shades, just to surprise Karkat, but I feel like I need my lucky aviators tonight.

I pull the car around outside the little café, taking in the cast-iron cat sign swinging in the breeze and the fairy-lights around the big plate-glass windows. My date is waiting on a sofa by one of them, chatting to a pair of other people; a tall, skinny guy who looks like he goes to Bill Gates’ barber, and a short curvy girl with dark skin and a huge mass of curls. They all look over when they see the stridermobile approach, and I roll down the window and wave uncomfortably. Karkat grabs his jacket, and I can see him ordering them to stay where they are. The girl is bouncing up and down in her seat excitedly, and Mr Skinny, who I notice is wearing glasses even more ridiculous than my own, has to practically hold her down by one shoulder. The glasses have one red lens and one blue, and I wonder how he can see anything through them without getting a major headache.

I get out of the car, and the girl nearly loses her shit, standing up so fast that the empty teacups on the table go flying. I blow her a kiss and her knees fold under her, her little body slumping wide eyed into the sofa. Skinny has his forehead cradled in one hand, embarrassed, and the other curls itself protectively around her shoulders. Obviously a couple, and from the looks of things they have vastly differing opinions of me or my work. I hear the door to the café swing open, and I really get a look at Karkat for the first time. He looks amazing, wearing a thin turtleneck sweater underneath a fitted jacket. All of it is black, like the wild mop of curly hair on his head, but he doesn’t look (as I would) like he’s going to a funeral. From where I’m standing, he’s literally breathtaking. His trousers are grey, and I quickly realize I’m staring. I move my eyes up to his face, where it’s obvious he’s noticed me checking him out. Fuck. I can feel my face turning red, and I hope it doesn't show too badly under the street lights.

“Hey.” I manage, trying to sound like my heart isn’t pounding in my chest.

“Yes. Hello, Strider. Get the fuck back into your car.” Is the reply I get, as he marches around to the passenger door.

“Okay doke.” I reply, mentally cursing my childish terminology.

I get my ass behind the wheel and pull away, pointing the car towards Mid-town. He relaxes a little once we put a block between us and the café, and I risk giving him a smile.

“Why the rush, man? Looks like I had quite the fan club back there.”

He groans, and I hope it’s not an omen of things to come.

“That’s just my roommate and his girlfriend. She’s nice, but she’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. She’s your biggest fan, apparently, so I thought it would be better to get out of there before she had a coronary.”

I nod, knowingly. I’ve been there before.

“Well, I tend to have that effect on people. Not all of them have the iron-hard will needed to resist my charms. I’m impressed by your capacity to keep your hands off me so far.”

He snorts a little, and I feel my smile get wider.

“No worries there, Strider. I think my capacity might be limitless.”

I feel myself relax a little into my seat. He’s just as much fun to talk to in person. I wonder why he keeps using my last name, although I kind of like it. It sounds right, coming from him. Like I have to earn it when he finally calls me “Dave”.Jegus, Strider, you’ll be planning your fucking proposal next. He’s only been in your car for five minutes, cool your goddamn jets.I’m distracted by driving, and I start a little when I hear him exclaim from the passenger seat.

“Shit, Strider! Is that a fucking cassette deck?”

I laugh, thanking my shitheap of a car for being the perfect ice-breaker.

“Yeah, man.” I drawl in reply, “it was an extra fifty bucks for the CD player.”

“So you just went for the cassette?” His tone is incredulous in the extreme.

“Yep,” I grin at him, “there’s a choice selection of tapes behind your seat if you take a look.”

I hear him reach behind him, pulling out the huge padded tape box. It’s green and yellow, and has a picture of a dinosaur on it. Next to the picture in cartoon letters is the word “Storeasaurus.”

“Fuck.” He says, taking it in.

When I hear him unzip it, he says it again. I admit the selection is a bit of an acquired taste. The look he gives me is half grudging respect, half withering scorn. He doesn’t say anything else, but that’s OK. We pull up outside the restaurant and I park the car, making sure to do so legally. Turning the key, I drink him in under the car’s feeble interior light. His hair is more wavy than curly, and it surrounds his face in a way that suggests he’s spent some time arranging it. Maybe I wasn’t the only one obsessing over this date.

He’s looking back at me from beneath thick eyebrows and long eyelashes, an air of self-satisfaction surrounding him.

“Are you finished, Strider?” He asks, causing my face to turn hot again. Shit.

“Nope.” I reply. “You’re gonna have to get used to me admiring you, Karkat.” It feels weird saying his name out loud.

“Shut up.” He says, with a familiar eye-roll, and hurriedly gets out of the car.

I almost grab his arm as we walk into the restaurant, having him hanging off mine seems like it would be just delicious. I don’t know why I’m so attracted to this person I barely know, but he seems to be pushing all the right buttons without even trying. The waiter from before is apparently the maitre d, which might have accounted for his snooty attitude on my last visit. Having to wait tables probably put that aquiline nose out of joint. It might have explained the attitude, but it doesn’t. It seems to be something he kept on ice for me. I can barely see his eyes as he greets us at the door, he’s looking down his nose at us so thoroughly.

Our table is in a cozy alcove lined with mosaic tiles, the light from the little candle flickering as it bounces off their fractal surfaces. Each of the twelve alcoves is decorated with a minimalist interpretation of one of the signs of the zodiac, clean lines in a single colour against a white background. I didn’t notice any of this when I was here with Rose and Kanaya, and I congratulate myself on the choice of venue. This place has romance up the fucking wazoo. Our alcove is the cancer sign, a graceful little crab picked out in pale grey tiles.

Karkat is studying the menu intently, but he looks up when he senses my eyes on him. He clears his throat, and I get the first whiff of any kind of nerves from him. I guess we have been sitting here in silence for a while. He takes a deep breath and breaks it.

“I’m impressed by the suit, Strider. I barely have to claw my eyes out at all. The only thing spoiling it is that ghastly orange tie.”

I laugh, gently. Oh, Karkat, babe, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I decide to let him have his surprise.

Nonchalantly, I shrug off my jacket and place it over the back of my chair. I don’t have long to wait before the hammer falls.

“Fuck!” he yells, louder than he intended. There’s one of those silences that happen in movies, where everyone’s holding their breath. The moment passes, and my red-faced date finally finds some words.

“Are those fucking candy-corn all over that monstrosity of a waistcoat, Strider?” His stare suggests he can’t quite believe it.

I nod, grinning. It’s really quite a special one, each cartoon nugget of corn positioned at a random angle against a black background. It felt appropriate somehow. He's grinning too now, clearly taking it in his stride.

"You're a fucking dipshit, Strider. Even you can't make that look good."  

My breath catches in my throat a little when I catch the subtext of that comment, the double edge behind the insult. _Even you_ can't make that look good.

The waiter does a fake little cough, and we realise he's been standing there literally waiting to take our order. I guess being a celbrity grants you special privileges, because we've got Lord Arroganti grudgingly waiting on us.

I make the same order as before, squashing the impulse to ask for my "usual" like a complete idiot. Karkat's eyebrows raise slightly when he hears me order apple juice, and get an identical onslaught of pure disdain from Captain Snooty. Karkat orders a small Pinot Grigio and the lobster. I snort when he does so, realizing he's making good on his promise of getting the most out me.

When the waiter leaves, Karkat makes a rude gesture at his retreating back. We bask in the warmth of the shared acknowledgement that the guy is a total asswipe. If the evening carries on like this, it'll be the best fucking date I've ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved my Storeasaurus. It came everywhere with me, along with this monstrosity that I think Dave would have liked (second one down).
> 
> https://st33.wordpress.com/hi-fi-accessories/walkman-by-boots/


	8. In the back of the Stridermobile

Our drinks arrive, and Karkat looks at me quizzically as I sip my AJ, feeling like a kid at the grown-up table for the first time in years. Normally I don't give a shit what anyone thinks of my apple obsession. I smile and remind him that I'm driving, I'm not going to kill the mood by mentioning my alcoholism. Although, if he's done any background reading on me, there are hints of it in some of the bitchier magazine articles. The AJ is one of my trademarks, though, a quirk the empty-headed hacks love to inquire about, so maybe he really is genuinely clueless about me. 

We've fallen into an awkward silence again, and I pull my fingers away from where they've been fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth. I take the plunge this time. 

"So. Uh. Do you want to do some cliché first date chat, man? You know, like, where'd you grow up, what's your family like, how'd you lose your virginity, that kind of thing? I mean, it doesn't have to be all serious or whatever, we can do it quickfire style or just shoot the shit like this isn't even a thing." 

Goddamn. I sound like a moron. He's frowning a little, and I can't tell if it's from disgust or amusement. Fuck, did I just ask him how he lost his virginity? I can feel my face turn red for the third time this evening and there's no fucking hiding it in here. I'm thankful for my shades, since they're doing an excellent job of hiding the fact I can't look him in the eye. 

"Strider, will you chill the fuck out?" I hear him say, laughter dancing on the edge of his voice. 

"I'm not going to walk out before a hundred dollars worth of lobster shows up, so you don't have to babble me into submission. In answer to your questions, I'm from Connecticut, my Mother is dead and my Father is an asshole, and I have a brother who really needs to sort his fucking life out. And in a bed, when I was 17, like a normal highschooler." 

His amused smile is making my heart flutter in my chest, part discomfort at the intensity of his gaze on me, part excitement at the fact he’s apparently enjoying that same discomfort. 

“Your turn.” He says, and I realize he really doesn’t know any of my very public background, or if he does he’s a very good actor. I push that thought away, but the little piece of my brain that belongs to Rose remains sceptical. 

“OK, that’s fair. I’m an orphan so no real family, just a friend I’ve had forever. I grew up in Houston, in a kids home. It was fine, the people were nice, but no-one ever felt like adopting me. And, uh, in the back of the Stridermobile.” 

He makes a face at that, his nose wrinkling in disgust. 

“Oh, shit, not the current Stridermobile. I had an ancient Caddy at the time. It cost a fortune to keep it going, but it had a lot more room in the back.” 

This isn’t how it was supposed to go, I wasn’t meant to spend my first date with him replaying visions of pressing my pale feet against the window of my old car. 

“Oh.” He replies. He sounds surprised. “I guess I always thought you were a rich kid who used daddy’s money to fund his stupid vanity projects. I didn’t realize it was a rags to riches deal, or in your case rags to very expensive and incredibly ugly rags.” 

“So, you didn’t feel like reading up on me before the big date, then?” I ask, grinning at him, “no peeking at Wikipedia or anything?” 

I can tell that if we were in less cultured surroundings, he’d be flipping me off for that. 

“Fuck you, Strider. Your stupid Wikipedia page is nothing but a garbled mess of references to your goddamn movies and comics. And the articles written by so-called “journalists” about you seem more interested in your favourite colour, your experiences working on your various "masterpieces", or your favourite sexual position. In other words, totally irrelevant information.” 

He’s smirking, but I think I detect a little touch of pink in his cheeks. I'd forgotten that the Wiki page is under near-constant vandalism attack. I had to ask the moderators very nicely not to lock the page, some of that stuff is solid-gold-hilarious. I scan my mind for more things to talk about. 

“Is it rude if I ask more questions about your family? Cause I don’t know shit about my background, obviously, so there’s no way I can return the favour.” 

His smile turns a little strained, and I hope I haven’t made things awkward. 

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind. My Mom was from Pakistan, Dad’s family are Palestinian. He was the first one born in the U.S. You might have heard of him, maybe? He used to be a professor at Harvard.” 

I shake my head, it seems unlikely. The University’s been closed down for years, and there’s another, bigger reason I wouldn’t have a clue if I’d heard of his father. 

“I think you’re being too charitable there, man. I wouldn’t recognise a professor if one bit me on the ass. Plus, I don’t know your last name.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Karkat fiddles with the cuff of one of his sleeves, and I probably should stop probing because it’s obviously making him uncomfortable. “It’s Vantas.” 

Vantas, now that does ring a bell. I’ve definitely met a Vantas before, and there can’t be too many of them. I don’t tend to mix with the elbow-patches and tweed crowd, though. 

“Did you mention having a brother? Because I remember meeting someone else named Vantas, I think. Someone not particularly Professor-y.” A vague memory of the same wild black hair above wilder eyes suddenly pops into my brain. 

He sighs, deeply. Crap, I’m seriously veering into shitty date territory. 

“Yes. I did. It figures you’d have come across him at one of your fucking asshole orgy-fests. After Mom died he lost it, started believing he was some kind of religious leader. He was flavour of the month for a while, all the sheep throwing themselves at him because he thought he was the fucking lovechild of Ghandi and Buddha. But all he has left now is a stupid hippie commune outside of San Francisco, and a brother he hits up for money whenever the cops that come sniffing around his weed crops need a bribe.” 

Karkat’s hand has balled itself into a fist, and I want more than anything to reach out and uncurl it with my own. I get the impression that would be a bit too intimate a gesture, though. This is personal shit and I don’t know him well enough. 

He’s right about his brother, I do remember meeting the sanctimonious little prick back when I used to go to all of the A-lister parties. Before my depression led me to politely decline them all until I was implicitly blacklisted. He’d been dressed like Jesus and surrounded by adoring women, all eager to tousle his hair or sit on his lap. He was cute, I admit, taller and probably more conventionally handsome than Karkat, but as soon as the little jerk had opened his mouth any thoughts of compromising his vow of celibacy had been jettisoned from my mind at light-speed. I’d nearly died of boredom after five minutes in his company, and had left him to his entourage of soon-to-be-disappointed harlots. 

“Oh, yeah. I think I did meet him once. He seemed kind of an ass, if you don’t mind me saying so.” 

He smiles a little, his fist retracting under the table as the food arrives. The lobster looks amazing, and I’m a little jealous. I hope I can convince him to feed me some of it. As we start eating, I decide to lift the mood with some humor. 

“So Karkat, you apparently already know my favourite sexual position, care to share your own?” 

I laugh as he splutters, coughing on his piece buttered meat. The daggers in his eyes suggest I shouldn’t do that again, but it was totally worth it. 

Before he can tell me to do something painful to my own anatomy, I jokingly explain that I used to make up a new one every time an overly-peppy gossip-columnist would ask me that question. I’d just come up with a ridiculous name, like the Inverted Space Jam or the Raging Threscutioner, and see what the magazines came up with to explain it. Some of the ideas had made me feel vaguely ill, but I’d had a go at a few of them. Most weren’t all they’d been cracked up to be. 

He laughs at my idiocy, and when the time comes to crack the lobster claws with the silver-nut-cracker dealie, I nearly choke on my steak as he sends fragments of shell bouncing all over the table. 

“Shut your goddamn noise-hole, dumbass” He retorts, blushing with embarrassment. “Not all of us can afford to have lobster for every fucking meal.” 

The realization dawns that he might not have ever done this before. Leaning across the table, I take his hands and show him where to wrap the crushing tool around the claw, cracking it neatly without spraying shards all over the place. I let go sharply when I realize that it’s the first time I’ve touched him, and I hope I haven’t crossed some sort of line. He’s just smiling at me knowingly, amused by my hesitation, so I think it was probably OK. Maybe if I’m lucky I can touch him again in a less lobstery context later. 

We order dessert, and Karkat has another glass of wine. He’s a long way off the deadly levels of alcohol he threatened to consume, but I’m enjoying the way the smiles come more easily to his face as he melts a little under its influence. His sense of humour is exquisite, cutting and acerbic as he deconstructs my movies until there’s nothing left but tiny shreds. 

I’m mostly happy to agree with his criticism, and enjoy the slow burning rage it induces when I explain that most of it is precisely the point of the whole thing. The movies are meant to be stupid, purile, nonsensical, the irony comes in the fact that they know they’re terrible. Even the characters are completely aware that they’re in a cartoon world where nothing makes sense. I’m proud of them for all the reasons Karkat hates them, but instead of making him difficult to talk to, the friction between our opinions keeps the conversation pleasingly warm, verging on hot. When I notice the little bastard is deliberately taking his time with his chocolate soufflé, pulling the spoon out of his mouth slowly while making eye-contact with me, and appearing to listen intently to whatever bullshit I’m currently saying, I want to kiss him so much it hurts. I’m also going to need a few minutes before I can go to the fucking bathroom. 

I pick up the cheque, and walk him out to the curb. I don’t want to just drop him back at the café, I’m not done with him just yet. An idea springs to mind, and this time I do take Karkat’s arm, pulling him in toward me a little. 

“Do you want to go for a walk before I take you home, or back to the café or whatever?” 

He nods, not pulling away from me. Instead, he worms his hand down until it’s holding mine. I don’t think there’s a base for holding hands, but it feels like a fucking home-run. 

“Sure. I’ll go for a walk with you, Strider. As long as you’re not trying to lure me back to your disgusting, gaudy sex-penthouse. I’m not going anywhere with you that glows under a fucking black-light” 

I shake my head, grinning. 

“Nah, man. You’re way too classy for those kinds of shenanigans, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t drunk enough. I’m talking a perfectly innocent walk here, Pussycat.” 

He sticks his tongue out at the nickname. I really shouldn’t be giving him nicknames on our first date, but his protests seem to be more for show than anything else. 

“So, where did you have in mind?” He says, leaning up against me in a way that makes my heart beat faster. 

Oh, I know exactly where we’re going.


	9. The Ironerium of D. Strider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the rest of their date (in two chapters), because I finished it quicker than I expected.  
> :D

I feel almost drunk; light headed and giddy, as I lead a slightly tipsy Karkat toward my secret destination. He’s only had two glasses of wine, but It was quite good wine, and his pint-sized frame probably doesn’t grant him much of an alcohol-tolerance. I almost lead him toward Times Square, tempted to twirl him around under the lights and noise until he has no choice but to lean on me for support. Even though it’s a tacky eyesore of a place, and all of the old advertisements have been replaced with Crockercorp messages reading “OBEY” and "SUBMIT", it still feels a little bit like magic to me. It reminds me of the first time I stumbled into NY, the bright lights taking my breath away after the drab streets of Houston. All of that was before I knew the Earth’s destruction was in motion, and the rainbow whirlwind of advertisements had been like a dream. I don’t know if Karkat still remembers it the way I do. But it isn’t what I have planned for him this evening. 

I point us a few blocks south, toward the garment district, walking out of step because of our height difference. When he spots the destination, the red sign reading “The Ironerium of D. Strider” glowing brightly on the corner of 8th Avenue, he groans loudly. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me, Strider. I don’t want to go in your stupid museum of ironic bullshit.” 

I laugh, tugging him forward when he stops in his tracks. 

“C’mon man, it’s like your own private tour, with the ultimate tour-guide. Plus, I’ve got a cool surprise for you if you can figure something out.” Crap, that didn’t sound very smooth out loud. 

He snorts. “Yeah, because that doesn’t sound rapey at all. “Unlock the puzzle of my zipper, Karkat, I’ve got a very tiny surprise for you. I hope you brought your magnifying lenses.” 

That sounded a lot more serious than I’d like, nerves hovering on the edge of his flippant words. 

“Shit, dude. You know you’re safe with me, right?” I stop, concerned, looking him in the eye. “Are you OK? We can go back to the car if you want. I don’t mind. Or I can just walk you to a cab and fuck off if you’re freaking out around me.” 

“I’m fine, I’m not freaking out,” he smiles a little, “I don’t want to go back to the car. I was just kidding, It’s just, you know, there’s kind of a power imbalance here, wouldn’t you agree? A billionaire who could probably cover up any crime he fucking wants, and a broke-ass parking attendant?” 

He takes a deep breath, and widens his smile something more natural. 

“I want to trust you, Strider. Really, I do. My fucking brain just won’t let me. Yet. But I will. Let’s see the amazing technicolour world of eyesores then.” 

I shrug, feeling pretty shitty until he grabs my hand and squeezes it. He pulls me forward, and I fumble in my pocket for the keys to the museum. I flick the lights on, revealing the cabinets full of ironic movie props and artwork. Karkat looks predictably unimpressed by the rows of cases of Kraft services napkins and coffee cups used on the sets of dozens of famous blockbusters, and the display of memorabilia from mockbusters like “Transmorphers” and “Atlantic Rim”. He does actually look a little impressed by my favourite collection, the amp and mini-henge from “This is Spinal Tap”. 

He retrieves his hand from mine, and folds his arms. 

“Is this it, Strider? You wanted to convince me you’re a pretentious douchebag? Because you’re already preaching to the choir there, cool guy.” 

“Nope, we’re not here for this stuff.” I reply, leading him to a bookcase made from scaffolding boards and breezeblocks. 

The shelves are filled with great works of literature, bookends made of three-dimensional Jpeg artefacts keeping them in place. The highest and lowest achievements of humanity, together in one place. The juxtaposition has a high irony factor, but it tends to be neglected by visitors more interested in the movie exhibits. The truth is it’s a front for something else, anyway. 

“Here’s your puzzle, dude. This is one of those secret passage bookcases, like from an old horror movie. If you press the right book, it’ll open up, open-sesame style.” 

He looks at me, amusement blending with the scepticism in his eyes. 

“How am I meant to know which stupid book to press, Strider?” 

I smile at him, scratching the back of my neck with one hand. 

Have a guess, dude. I think you’ll get if from the title.” 

Karkat starts studying the bookcase lazily, fingers brushing over the spines of the books. He pauses at “Sense and Sensibility” and “Great Expectations”, smirking at me pointedly and shaking his head before moving on. Eventually, his finger rests on “The Great Gatsby”, and he pushes it firmly. A panel in the wall next to the bookcase clicks and slides away, revealing well-lit stairs leading up. I knew he’d get it. I don’t know how, but I knew. 

“Congratulations, man.” I chuckle, “follow me and see what you’ve won.” 

“I don’t feel like I’ve won,” he replies, trailing me up the stairs “unless the prize is a whole heap of pseudo-mysterious bullshit.” 

The room upstairs is one that only a few people have ever seen. The suspicion that this was all a mistake is making itself comfortable in my stomach, especially when I see Karkat’s frown. 

“What is all this, Strider?” He says, softly, moving toward one of the cases lining the room. 

The truth is that this is my real personal museum, containing the things I’ve done when I’ve actually tried my hardest. The case that Karkat has his nose pressed against is a set of photographs I took of Kanaya for a first-year fashion exhibition, moody black and white shots and vibrant colour prints of her looking radiant in her creations. I’d been experimenting with light and shadow, and a lot of the pictures had turned out too dramatic for her portfolio. I kept those ones, hanging them up here. 

The other things are a mixture of my old drawings and paintings, landscape photographs I took on my occasional travels to far-away places, and some of my attempts to document the remains of old Earth’s culture. Crumbling pieces of Houston, mostly, road signs and flyers I found abandoned in the streets that used to mean something to me. One wall is taken up with shelves, some of which house fossils I've collected over the years, and others holding little mementos of the things I left in my Houston apartment. A couple of the stupid puppets, some small training weaponry, one of the baseball hats I bought for him. I hope Karkat doesn't spot them, and I suddenly feel sick with how stupid I've been in bringing him here. 

He’s staring at the drawings now, and I know I’ve completely fucked things up. This is all too much, too personal. They’re pictures of people with grey skin, orange horns protruding from the sides of their heads. Just some characters I used to draw over and over back when I was younger, their image seemingly burned into my brain until I released them onto the page. 

“Uh, Karkat, I’m sorry I brought you up here. We can just go, dude. It was a stupid idea, I dunno why I thought you’d get a kick out of seeing some of my terrible non-ironic shit.” 

He’s frowning when he turns to face me, and I guess the date is officially over. Time of death, 10.22pm. 

“You did all of this, Strider?” He asks, looking confused. 

“Well, yeah. I mean, these are some old drawings from when I was like 19. I used to draw these guys a lot. And the photos are a hobby, something I used to do for fun. These are bits of what’s left of Houston, so I can remember it how it was.” I motion at each display in turn, grateful for an excuse to look away from Karkat’s gaze. 

“I just shoved everything up here because I figured what’s more ironic for an irony museum than to have a secret gooey centre of genuine sentiment hidden away where no-one can see it" 

Except you, for some season. 

I stare down at the floor, and start to turn for the stairs. I should probably take him back to the café so he never has to see me again. I’m surprised when I feel his hand on my shoulder, holding me back. When I turn and face him, he puts a hand under my chin so I can’t avoid looking in his eyes. Those beautiful eyes are wide with concern. 

“Shit, Dave. I had no fucking idea. No idea you actually had talent, for one, and no fucking clue you were...you know, not just some charming caricature of an eccentric rich guy. A real fucking person underneath all that crap. Why do you hide all of this stuff?” 

I shrug. “I dunno, really. No-one was interested in it when I was trying to make a living out of it. The only thing I’ve ever been successful at was making stuff that was purposefully terrible. Something tells me the fans aren’t interested in a few tourist pictures of the Great Wall of China at sunset, Karkat.” 

He smiles, a little twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

“Well, I like them, dumbass. They’re fucking beautiful. It seems like you keep all of your best qualities hidden away under layers of unbearable douchebaggery.” 

He reaches up and I sway back a little when I realize he’s going to take off my shades. No-one since Rezi has seen my eyes. He stops, hesitating, and I swallow, hard. 

“Go on. You can take them off.” 

Karkat’s hands carefully remove the glasses, and I blink a few times, even in the dim light of the little “museum”. He isn’t expecting to see red behind them. No-one ever is. 

Nervously, not making eye-contact, I make the same quip I used on Rezi. 

“Imagine the irony, huh? A photographer with red eyes.” 

Instead of laughing, he grabs the lapels of my suit jacket and pulls me down to kiss him. I breathe him in, melting against him. He’s a very, very good kisser. The kiss is open mouthed, passionate, my lips moving against his but without the contact of his tongue on mine. When I dart into his mouth a little, touching the tip of tongue his with my own, he pulls away, gently. The little drop in his posture tells me he’s been standing on tip-toes. 

I smile at him, daring to look into his eyes this time. He’s clearly amused at my awkwardness, at the fact that the world-renowned smooth operator is being out-operated by a little parking attendant. 

“I guess you trust me now, huh?” I ask, hoping the answer is yes. 

“I think it’s safe to assume that I trust you, yes. I don’t kiss people I don’t trust, Strider.” 

I grin in response, and kiss him again. This time, I’m not so nervous, and my mind fills with awareness of him pressing against me, lips and body this time. The warm, hazy recollection of him calling me Dave swims into my consciousness. Just once. But I’d like to hear him do it again.


	10. I've seen you in the stars

The second kiss lasts longer than the first, my hand tangling in his hair like it's the most natural thing in the world, his arms looped around my waist. His hair is soft, thick, and I can feel the slight crunch of the product he's used to tame it. I smile against his mouth, that bed-head isn't as effortless as it looks. I restrain myself from grabbing his magnificent behind, not wanting to push my luck. Instead, my other hand rests in the small of his back, gently holding him against me. After an indeterminate amount of time lost in the delirious feeling of his lips on mine and his teeth nipping gently at my bottom lip, I break the connection, my breathing embarassingly heavy.

"Damn, Karkat. You're really good at that. Like, pro-level, represent your country in the world-championships good. The world-record holder for awesome smooches is you, dude."

Karkat snorts at my babbling. He doesn't look ruffled in the slightest, aside from where my hand has disturbed his hair.

"Much as I resent the implication that I kiss people for sport, I'll take that stream of nonsense as a compliment. I think I'm going to retire to the bench for this evening, though. I have a reputation to maintain, after all."

"I don't," I reply, grinning.

"No, you most certainly do not," he laughs, "Unless it’s being renowned the world-over as the place STD's go to die. But I hadn't intended to do anything this evening except have an expensive dinner bought for me by an admittedly attractive asshole. I think you've done better than you could have expected."

"Mmm" I muse. "For someone who clearly thinks I'm a scumbag, you seem awfully into me. I wonder why that could be. You're going to be an expensive habit, aren't you Vantas?"

"You'd better fucking believe it, Strider. Although not as expensive as the medical bills you'll have if you try anything I don't approve of."

I tense a little, remembering Rose's words of warning about trusting him, letting him close when I don't know anything about him. He nudges me gently with one shoulder, trying to get me to loosen up.

"I'm kidding, assface. I don't give a shit about money or fancy dinners or any of that crap. You're hot, apparently not a total moron, and secretly some kind of hopeless romantic, judging from the contents of this room. Colour me intrigued enough to see you again. Possibly with the stipulation of a note from a physician guaranteeing I won't get the clap from sitting too near you. I'll pay for dinner next time, if you don't believe me."

He laughs, softly. "And besides, if I needed to be treated like a fucking princess, I wouldn't have gone within fifty feet of that heap of shit you drive around."

I lean down and lick the side of his face, holding him by the waist when he tries to squirm away. He snarls, one hand rubbing my saliva off his face and onto my jacket.

"You've got Strider-cooties now, Karkat. I don't have any diseases, you cheeky little fucker. It's hard to catch anything from your own left hand."

He wrinkles his nose, obviously getting some unwelcome mental images.

"If it's _your_ hand, Strider, I wouldn't be so sure. But seriously, you've got to be joking, you could hire a professional jerk-off artist every night of the week if that's what you're into. I suppose I believe you, though. If you were going to die of crotch-rot it would’ve have happened already."

I let him go when he pulls away, conscious of the fact that the hand whose reputation we're impugning was just buried in his hair. He doesn't go far, wandering back over to the cabinet of drawings.

"I guess I just prefer the personal touch, man. Also, can we stop talking about this? My poor hand is turning bright red over here."

He doesn't seem to be listening to me, instead staring intently at my old character studies. They're pretty good, if I do say so myself, better than I remember. One of them is fairly transparently based on Kanaya, but the others are less familiar to me now. Looking at them still gives me an itch in the back of my brain that I can't seem to shift.

"These are...odd," he says, sounding distant all of a sudden, "have you ever published them? I feel like I've seen them before."

I shake my head, then realize he's too distracted to notice.

"Nope. They're not finished. There were meant to be twelve, hence the zodiac signs on their shirts. But I could never picture some of them properly, like I couldn't decide if the Aries chick should be a total badass, or if she should be the fluffiest, cutest character of the whole bunch. Ditto for the Cancer sign, I knew it was gonna be someone angry, maybe like a giant, hulking, total bastard. But all my drawings came out weird; I couldn't do any that looked right. These ones are the ones I was happy with. I guess I kinda shot myself in the foot by assigning them to zodiac signs, but it just seemed like it fit."

Way more detail than he asked for about my dumb old drawings. For a minute I don't think he's listening, but then he nods and looks up at me.

"They're good, you should finish them. Cancer's my sign, as Kankri was fond of reminding me during his Astrology phase. If you believe in all that star-child bullshit it's supposed to mean I'm a hothead, and he never fucking shut up about how I needed to control my temper. I probably didn't help matters by giving him a dead-arm whenever he brought it up. I'd like to see what you come up with."

Kankri is his brother's name, I remember, recalling a memory of him declining to shake my hand because he was keeping his body pure of physical contact. He hadn't seemed to mind later when he was draped in women.

"You seem pretty chill to me, dude. I mean, you've spent the entire evening insulting me, but you don't actually seem angry. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, you can spend as much time insulting me as you like, so long as I get to look at you while you do it. I'll be too busy ogling to really listen."

He gives me a little smile, presumably for complementing his self-control.

"You're sick, aren't you Strider? I should have guessed from your movies you'd get off on being criticised. You can thank my therapist for the fact you're still in one piece."

Karkat sighs, and pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time. I don't bother. I always know what time it is. It's getting kind of late, so I offer to take him home.

He nods, smiling, and we make our way out of the museum and onto the street. He holds onto my arm on the way back to the car, and I kind of wish I could see the stars. They aren't nearly as romantic since an alien descended from them and doomed humanity, but they're still pretty. I don't think it's ever been possible to see them from the streets of Manhattan, though.

When we arrive back at the restaurant, I let out a loud "Motherfucker!"

The car is gone, a sad little pile of broken glass explaining its absence. Karkat bursts out laughing, doubling over, unable to breathe, and sets me going too. God dammit. There could not be a worse fucking time for a starry-eyed car thief to decide they really need me to see their script for a sitcom about space-gerbils. After he gets his breath back, he looks somewhat regretful.

"Sorry I laughed, Strider. I shouldn't have laughed at your car being stolen. But, I mean, who the fuck would steal that godawful piece of shit?" He’s still giving me that snarky little grin.

I sigh, pulling out my phone to call a cab.

"It's fine. It happens quite a lot. It'll be back outside my apartment tomorrow. I'm sure my car tracker is getting an unwelcome phone call right now to tell him to go get it."

Two cabs ordered, we wait on the sidewalk for a few minutes, doing the awkward little waiting dance of looking at our surroundings intently. I remember that I should probably ask him out again.

"Soooo...are you doing anything Saturday?" I ask, hoping my car will be back in usable condition by then.

"Not at the moment. I could be persuaded to do something." He smiles back at me as I grin at him, relief that he wants to see me again flooding through me.

"Cool. D'you wanna spend the day doing some touristy shit? It's been a while since I've done any of it. I'll wear my incognito clothes, so you won't have to be seen in public with me or anything."

He's still smiling, which I interpret as a positive sign.

"Sure. It'll be interesting to see what you look like when you aren't dressed like a drag-king."

I flick his earlobe gently for that remark, earning myself a little squeak of surprise. I happen to think I look damn good in my stupid suits. He responds with a middle finger and a sideways smile.

"I'll meet you at Rockefeller Plaza at 10am then. We can go get brunch and see the sights. I'll be the one that looks like me, only less impeccably dressed."

Rubbing his ear, Karkat gives me a little peck on the corner of my mouth before getting into the cab that pulls up to the curb.

I watch him go, jumping when my own cab beeps his horn at me. He's been waiting for all of ten seconds, so it's a completely reasonable response. No big tip for you, impatient McGee.

I feel light-headed when I get into the apartment, and I don't think I'll sleep just yet. I decide to try Rose; it should be morning in India, so maybe I can get the juicy gossip from Porrim's seven day love-fest.

turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist[TT]

TG: sup rose

TG: hows the wedding going

TG: whats the count on people referring to you as kanayas “friend”

TT: Distressingly high, David.

TT: Although our antics on the dance-floor last night seem to have put a stop to it.

TG: nice

TG: you go girls

TG: drag those elderly relatives into the twenty first century with your lady lovin

TT: How was the date I asked you not to go on?

TG: wtf rose

TG: those spooky powers are on fire

TT: No communing with dark gods needed this time, my dear.

TT: You’re up late, and you sound happy for once. Plus you’re talking to me instead of moping in front of the TV.

TG: wow character assassin at twelve o clock

TG: what you got on those needles rose

TG: is it cryanide

TT: That makes no sense, David, even for you. Cyanide is an inhaled toxin.

TT: Anyway, stop dodging the question. How was it?

TG: great rose

TG: hes awesome

TG: smart funny hot all in one tiny package

TG: although hopefully not a literally tiny package

TT: Enough, Dave. No below-the-belt talk.

TT: Although it sounds like you stayed north of the border this time.

TT: Trying a different approach to your usual one-two punch of alcohol and bedroom antics?

TG: rose im hurt

TT: Hurt?

TG: wounded even

TG: i am a paragon of virtue

TG: a saintly angel of chaste sloppy makeouts

TT: I see. Well, be careful. We don’t want you to get hurt.

TT: It sounds like you’re falling for him already.

TG: dont be silly rose it was one date

TG: im not a fourteen year old girl

TG: youre not going to find notebooks with his name scrawled all over

TG: with hearts and dicks in the margins

TT: I think it’s traditionally flowers, David.

TG: you havent seen my school notebooks obviously

TT: So you found out his name, then? Care to share it?

TG: nah i had to wait so you can too

TG: ill introduce you when youre back in ny

TT: Wow, and you claim you aren’t falling for him! Someone’s confident!

TG: oh shut up

TG: otherwise ill cut the gossip pipline

TG: dont think i wont

TG: i know you need it to live like some sort of nosy succubus

TT: I resent that, David. But I’ll leave you be, for now.

TT: keep us updated :)

TG: will do rose

TG: have fun

TT: Bye, Dave.

turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist[TT]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like these guys are slipping out of character a little in these chapters, so here's a bit of background on why:
> 
> They're older, for one, and both have had relationships before. Karkat's still into his romance novels, so he's very comfortable in a candlit dinner setting. Dave hasn't really done it too often, apart from Terezi he's mostly just done a lot of sleeping around in his twenties (very publicly in some cases). Naughty boy ;-)
> 
> However, Karkat has some serious intimacy issues, just like in the comic. He's been made to deal with his anger, but he still acts out when he's grumpy, or around Sollux (they've known each other since they were kids).
> 
> Dave hides his emotions from pretty much everyone except Rose (and even Rose, some of the time). He gets Roxy's alcoholism instead of Rose - Kanaya wouldn't have let anything like that happen to her.


	11. I dressed in black to mourn your loss

This morning’s waking had been different, instead of an aching longing in my stomach, I’d woken with a burning arousal. The thought of Karkat fellating his soufflé spoon had helped immensely with taking care of it, almost shamefully so. The way his eyes half-lidded themselves, nodding along knowingly to whatever I was saying, all the while drawing the spoon out so that it rested gently on his lower lip. Mmmm. I don’t give a shit what Rose says, I’ll be his spoon any day of the week. 

My phone rings as I step out of the shower, a number I don’t recognise. 

“Hello?” 

“Mr Strider?” The voice is familiar. It doesn’t sound very happy, either. 

“Yeah,” I reply, apprehensive. 

“I’m afraid I have some bad news. A limo will be with you shortly to pick you up.” 

Throwing on a hoodie and jeans, I jog down the stairs and get into the car. When we reach our destination, I’m greeted by a grisly scene. The charred skeleton of the Stridermobile is lying forlornly by the side of the road, next to a stretch of waste ground enclosed by rusty chainlink fencing. The fuckers must have set fire to it when they were finished joyriding. They had the goddamn audacity to leave it to die in New Jersey. No car deserves that. Although the car’s been stolen a bunch of times, I guess I never really thought anything would happen to it. I feel a strange sort of guilt in my stomach as I touch the melted remains of what used to be a wheel-arch. Poor little car. I should have taken better care of you. Maybe not left you parked all over the city with a “STR1D3R” kick-me sign taped to your back. 

Christian puts his hand on my shoulder softly, clearing his throat to get my attention. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Strider. It was already on fire when I found it. I know you had some kind of bizarre attachment to that car, to the extent that you would hire me just to babysit it, so I’m sorry for your loss.” 

He sounds genuine. I hate it when people I respect call me Mr Strider, though. Mr Strider is presumably the father I never knew, or he would be if I hadn’t chosen the name myself. 

“Dude, call me Dave. Also, I’m gonna have to ask you to find me another car. You can guess the sort of thing I’m after, something suitably dumb. And red.” 

I cancel my appointments for the rest of the day, heading home to wallow in self-pity for a while. I know I'm being stupid, that it's just an inanimate object, but I've been driving the idiotic thing around for over a decade. It feels like a part of me is gone. I consider having an earnest feelings chat with Rose, but I don't want to bring her down. Today is the actual ceremony, the culmination of all the hoopla surrounding Porrim's marriage to an affable little stockbroker, so I don't want to bring her down. Pestering Karkat seems like it might be OK, though, especially since he knows the car was stolen. 

turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist[CG] 

TG: hey karkat 

TG: bad news man 

TG: they torched the stridermobile 

TG: sad crying smiley dude 

TG: sad crying smiley with sunglasses 

CG: OH, SHIT. 

CG: FUCK, STRIDER. NOW I FEEL LIKE THE WORLD'S MOST REPUGNANT PIECE OF EXCREMENT FOR LAUGHING. 

CG: ARE YOU OK? YOU SEEMED DISTURBINGLY ATTACHED TO THAT RUSTY SHITHEAP. 

TG: hey dont speak ill of the dead 

TG: not to mention my dear departed collection of early nineties cassettes 

TG: where am i going to get another copy of all those spice girls albums karkat 

CG: MY HEART BLEEDS FOR YOU. 

CG: BETTER THAT THAN MY FUCKING EARS. 

TG: anyway how could you say that about poor stridey 

TG: i thought you were like a professional car whisperer or whatever 

TG: arent they all like your special children 

CG: FUCK NO. MORE LIKE DISOBEDIENT LITTLE BASTARDS. 

CG: IT'S MY JOB TO GIVE THEM A FUCKING DETENTION, NOT WIPE THEIR SNOTTY NOSES. 

CG: WHATEVER THOSE WOULD BE IN THIS DISASTER OF A METAPHOR. 

TG: ok fine you just sent both me and the cars to school 

TG: that place was fucking human car coed man 

TG: prom was weird as shit 

TG: some jerk slapped a honk if your horny bumper sticker on my ass and I nearly went deaf 

TG: my date had plenty of junk in the trunk though 

CG: I'M SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS, STRIDER. 

CG: I'M ALSO SORRY FOR SOMEHOW INTRODUCING A SCHOOL INTO THE METAPHOR SHITSTORM. 

CG: SO. FUCKING. SORRY. 

TG: dont you mean metaphornado 

CG: DID YOU ACTUALLY WANT SOMETHING? 

CG: OTHER THAN TO PROVE YOU DON'T NEED A CAR TO DRIVE ME SO FAR AROUND THE FUCKING BEND I CAN SHAKE HANDS WITH MYSELF? 

TG: yeah do you want to go get coffee 

TG: i know its against all the bullshit dating rules 

TG: but i just lost my best friend man 

TG: keeper of my most sacred shitty music 

TG: transporter of my plush rump 

TG: i need a fucking hug dude 

CG: THAT IS THE MOST PATHETIC PICK UP ATTEMPT I'VE EVER SEEN. 

CG: BUT I GUESS IT FUCKING WORKED BECAUSE FINE, I'LL MEET YOU. 

TG: pickup truck was my nickname back at daimler high 

CG: THE OFFER IS CONDITIONAL ON YOU SHUTTING UP. 

CG: OTHERWISE YOU'LL HAVE TO CALL A SAD LITTLE HUG-PROSTITUTE TO COMFORT YOU. 

TG: aww dude i wouldnt cheat on you 

TG: im your exclusive hug territory 

CG: YOU COULDN'T AFFORD WHAT I'D HAVE TO CHARGE YOU. 

CG: IT'S ALMOST LUNCH, SO MEET ME AT THE LOLCAT AT TWELVE. 

CG: I'LL BUY YOU A PANINI AND WE CAN CALL IT EVEN FOR DINNER. 

TG: do they serve lobster paninis 

CG: YOU'RE A HORSE'S ASS, STRIDER. 

TG: im kidding dude calm down 

TG: it just looked tasty is all 

TG: the whole view was tasty from where i was sitting 

CG: IF ONLY I COULD SAY THE SAME. 

CG: ALAS, I WAS STRUCK BLIND BY THE HORROR OF THAT HIDEOUS WAISTCOAT. 

TG: blinded by its brilliance maybe 

CG: DON'T MAKE ME REGRET MEETING YOU FOR LUNCH. 

CG: ANY MORE THAN I ALREADY REGRET MEETING YOU IN GENERAL, I MEAN. 

TG: no promises 

turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist[CG] 

I feel a little better, talking to him and knowing that I can at least interact with another human being today who isn't one of my asshole employees. My phone buzzes again, but it isn't Karkat this time. 

Her Imperious Condescention began pestering turntechGodhead[TG] 

)(er IC: hey bouy 

)(er IC: sorry you missed the fuckin bbq 

)(er IC: the smell a all that nasty shit burnin was somefin special 

TG: wtf flipperbitch 

TG: what did my fucking car ever do to you 

)(er IC: nofin obviously 

)(er IC: gotta keep my shellf entertained 

TG: fuck you you giant intergalactic skank 

)(er IC: thats the idea 

)(er IC: your not gunna enjoy it tho <3<

TG: im going to block your creepy alien ass now 

TG: for all the good it does 

)(er IC: which is none 

)(er IC: your ass is mine strider 

)(er IC: you aint got long till I come for it 

)(er IC: tick tock bitch 

Her Imperious Condescention ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG] 

Gross. The idea if her fishy claws touching me is enough to make my skin want to peel itself off my body and hide in the closet. Fuck that tacky bitch for burning my car. I'm not stupid, I've seen the stupid propaganda films she's released over the years trying to get humans to form sex-partnerships with their enemies, despite the fact that people who aren't in high school don't have goddamn enemies. For some reason it's an important part of what the batterwitch considers a proper society. The stupid club symbol means she's got the hate-hots for me, and that's a development I could do without. 

I catch a cab uptown, already hating the loss of freedom of having my own car. The cab smells overpoweringly of air freshener, no-doubt covering the smell of overheated taxi driver. The LOLCAT is pretty in the daylight, the pastel colours of the walls complementing the dark wood and leather of the furnishings. It's like a lazy kitten's dream in here, big fat sofas and overstuffed cushions. Karkat is nestled in one of them, blowing delicately on a cup of some sort of tea. I wave, order a coffee from the counter, and take the little china cat with a number painted on it. The girl behind the counter smiles slightly manically at me and says she'll bring it over. 

Karkat takes a second to recognise me in my jeans and hoodie, square shades covering my eyes instead of the aviators. I should probably get some more flattering normal clothes if I'm going to wear them around him. The hoodie has a picture of a kawaii panda on it, and I really wish I'd chosen a less stupid one rather than the first one I grabbed. 

"Hello Strider. I dressed in black to mourn your loss. Woe is me, etc." 

I can tell he isn't all that sympathetic to the rich guy whose shitty car got torched, but he's here at least. 

"You dress in black all the time, dontcha?" I reply, plonking myself down next to him on the sofa. 

He jumps, spilling a little of his tea, and calls me an inconsiderate fucktard. Smoothing the liquid off his jeans, also black so thankfully they won't stain, he confirms that he does, pretty much, always wear black or grey. It suits him, the darker tone of his skin meaning he doesn't look pasty or washed out. He nudges me with an elbow to convey that I've been staring at him like a weirdo again, and that my coffee has arrived. The same sparky little barista puts it gently on the table, and winks knowingly at Karkat. 

"Thanks, Nepeta." he says, in a way that suggests he really means "go the fuck away." 

"Thanks, babe!" I call after her, before turning to Karkat. "She's cute, you two know each other, huh? An old girlfriend?" 

He almost growls his "Hell no," before realizing how harsh that sounded. The girl's out of earshot, but I still feel a little bad for her. Karkat breathes deeply and regains his composure, sipping his tea. 

"We went to high school together. She's nice, lovely really. But she could never quite get her head around the fact I'm not attracted to her. And she's way too fucking nosy about my love life. I know she'll be on the phone to her snooty-ass cousin as soon as we step out of the door." 

I move a little closer to him, careful not to jostle the tea. he's already going pink in the face, and it's adorable so it's too damn tempting not to mess with him. When he puts his cup down, I put my arm across the back of the sofa and give him a peck on the cheek. 

He looks at me, shocked and angry, which isn't exactly what I was hoping for. Maybe I'm being too pushy, but it was hardly a predatory move. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" He growls. 

"I was giving her something to gossip about, but now I'm moving to a safe distance so you don't punch me in the face?" 

I nudge back out of what is obviously his personal space, and he gives me a strange look, confusion and embarrassment mixing with the anger. 

"Sorry, Strider. You just caught me by surprise." 

Karkat seems calm again now, finishing up his drink as I make a start on mine. It's nice, bitter but rich. Like me, I guess. 

"So. Any idea who wrecked the Moronmobile?" 

I think while I sip my coffee, deciding whether to tell him or not. It's too interesting a story not to, I guess, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about my unwelcome kisme-suitor. 

"Yeah, it was Crocker. She's got the spade-hots for me, apparently." 

He rolls his eyes, obviously not buying it. 

"Sure, assmunch. The ruler of the entire goddamn planet stole your car and burned it as a hate-flirting exercise. How do you even keep your bloated, parade-balloon of a head up without being crushed under it's mammoth weight?" 

"The mammoth weight of a balloon?" I counter. 

"Shut up." he jogs my elbow in retaliation, almost sending hot coffee all over my crotch. 

I pull out my phone and show him the conversation with the Batterwitch. As he reads, the colour slowly drains out of his face. 

"Holy shit, Strider. You just called the fucking empress of the planet a "flipperbitch". How are you not being chummed into monster-food right now?" 

I shrug, looking at him over my shades. "Just too cool, I guess." 

He's still worried, but not so much that he doesn't punch me on the arm for that. 

"Fuck. This is serious, idiot. She could fucking kill you with a twitch of one of those hair tentacles, and she wouldn't even break a sweat. If she wants to fucking destroy your ass, she will. Literally and figuratively." 

I shrug again, and it's my turn to roll my eyes. 

"Gee, Karkat, I hadn't thought of that. I thought she wanted to buy me a nice dinner and fuck me gently by candlelight." 

Karkat recoils from that, like I've slapped him in the face. I realize what I just said was pretty much my ideal date with him, something from a goddamn romance novel. 

I scramble to recover, words falling out of my mouth in a babbling stream. 

"Sorry, Sorry, I know I'm being an ass, OK, and it's not your fucking fault, it's just been a terrible shitty day, my car's just gone, you know, and I've had it for twelve fucking years." I take a breath, watching Karkat's eyes widen. 

"And on top of that I'm apparently gonna have to be on the fucking lookout twenty-four-fucking-seven in case Fish Hitler's minions try and jump me. And the worst part is I really need to get the fuck out of your life so she doesn't decide to kill you for fun." 

I feel his hand on my arm, and look up into his face. He's scared, sure, but his jaw is set. 

"Fuck that, Strider. I don't need protecting, and you getting the fuck away from me won't help anyway. If she can tell you care about someone, they're in danger. It doesn't matter when you last had coffee with them." 

Shit, he's right. He's in danger now, no matter what. Because of me. He squeezes my arm, conscious of the fact that I'm on the edge of flipping my shit in the middle of an admittedly empty cafe. 

"It'll be OK, I've done some troll research, and they have this complicated romance system where the love and hate relationships don't mix. Even if she did have a hate-mance with you, there'd still be enough of you to go around." 

He's joking, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I'm pretty sure he can tell.


	12. I will try to fix you

Karkat takes me by surprise when he slides across the sofa and puts his arm around me. I lean into him a little, resting my face in his curls. 

"It'll be OK." he says again. I grunt, not agreeing or disagreeing. 

After a while, he lifts his head and gives me an almost imperceptible kiss on my jawline. 

"Come on, Dave. This is nice, I don't want it to just stop. I had a much, much better time than I expected last night." Not as good as I did this morning, my traitorous brain reminds me. 

"I did too, Karkat." There's no other word for it, I'm downright snuggling up to him. He's warm and comfortable, and I could do this for hours. 

The little barista is back to clear the cups, giggling excitedly at the sight of us cuddling like a pair of koalas. She drops a pair of menus on the table, but I don't think I feel like eating. 

Karkat makes that growling grumbling noise in the back of his throat when he sees her wink at us, but doesn't move away. 

Yawning, I lean back into the cushions, trapping Karkat's arm. He swiftly extracts it. 

"I know we said lunch, dude, but I'm not really in an eating mood. I think I'm gonna head home and get some quality mourning under my belt. I think even for me it would be extravagant to have a funeral for a car." 

He hums to himself, thinking, before he makes an alternative suggestion. 

"You could go home and mope in your shame pit like a hormonal fucking teenager, or you could come over to my place and watch a movie. Not, and I can't stress this enough, one of your audiovisual bowel movements. My roommate will be around, but he's not too much of an asshole as long as he's got an unlimited supply of sugar and junk food." 

I'm hardly going to turn him down. This seems like it's a big step for him, for some reason. He's a strange one, spiky and acerbic, but he melts as soon as I show any vulnerability. Maybe he's attracted to broken people. A fixer, in other words. Even though I can't see how he could possibly fix my problem with the bitch queen from outer space, if anything can take my mind off it, it's spending time with Karkat. 

He lets me pay for the drinks, after fussing for a while. If I can help it he won't spend a fucking penny around me. I can't take it with me, after all. We climb into a cab, staring out of our respective windows. When I reach for his hand, he takes mine and squeezes it. 

The cab swings north, and I notice the buildings getting more downmarket. I hadn't recognised the address Karkat had given the driver, but it turns out to be in Washington Heights, in a large apartment building. Unlike some of the ones we've passed it doesn't have any broken windows, but the ubiquitous spray-painted tags of the neighborhood stand out in a few places on the brickwork. 

The stairwell smells a little of disinfectant, and Karkat asks me to wait outside his door for a minute, while he pacifies his roommate. His vocal volume rises significantly when he goes inside and I have no trouble hearing him affectionately chewing out said roommate. The score is apparently Two-nothing for Karkat needing to fix people. 

"Sollux! Like I told you before I went out, pick up your disgusting bowls of god-knows-how-old ramen, clean up the honey that's all over the fucking counter, and put some fucking cothes on! Nobody wants to see your heart beating through your pasty ribcage like E.T., I don't give a shit how hot it is." 

I hear a mumbled, groaning response, which is immediately met by more loud fussing from Karkat. 

"And take your fucking meds, I can tell you're as wired as a goddamn matrix cosplayer right now, which means you forgot again. Go get dressed, I'll make you a fucking sandwich or something if you promise not to be an asshole for a couple of hours." 

I think that puts an extra point in the "Fixer" column. Two more co-dependent roommates I have never heard, "Sollux" apparently needs Karkat in order to survive, and I'd be willing to bet Karkat would be lost without someone to take care of. Three-zero it is. I wonder if he has any friends that aren't complete wrecks, myself included. Nepeta seemed fine, so I award a point on the other side for her. Three-one. 

His head appears around the door, and he tells me it's safe to come in. I'm not sure I agree when I step inside, because I'm almost immediately face to face with a pair of colourful glasses and a lot of teeth. 

"Shit KK, one date and you let him follow you home? I thought this asshole was supposed to be a fucking big shot and he's got nothing better to do than trail around after you like a fucking puppy?" 

His concession to putting some clothes on seems to be limited to a t-shirt with the words "FUCK THE POLICE" written on it, because other than that he's only wearing boxers. I try and give him the benefit of the doubt, but I can't say I was expecting a lispy tirade as soon as I stepped through the door. 

"Hey dude. Dave Strider. Nice to meetcha." 

He laughs at my outstetched hand, and turns down the hallway toward the sound of Karkat rattling around in what I assume is the kitchen. 

"KK, this fucking poser just called me "dude" with a straight face. I'm going to kawabunga out of here before he tells me to chillax to the fucking max or some other ninja turtles bullshit. Whatever you're making, just leave it outside my room." 

He dissappears into one of the rooms, and I can't say I'm sorry to see him go. Karkat responds with a loud "Sure thing, Stephen!" which gets a "FUCK YOU, KK!" from behind the closed door. 

I wander down the hallway, into a kitchen-living-room similar to my own. Except instead of a fancy coffee machine and shiny appliances, there are dirty cups and plates. Karkat has his hands deep in a bowl of suds, and he was obviously hoping to get all the stuff washed quickly before I walked in. 

"Don't worry about it, man. I don't care about a few plates or whatever. What crawled up his ass and died?" I motion with a thumb toward the room Sollux or Stephen or whatever his name is is currently sulking in. 

Karkat huffs and hands me a cloth to dry the plates with, seemingly acting on autopilot. I take it, and hang it straight back up on the hook it came from. I don't do fucking housework. I either hire someone to do it, or I have a machine that does it. Either way, the apartment is always spotless when I get home. 

Karkat grumbles a little, then seems to remember I'm a guest, not his drying bitch. He stacks the plates in the rack, and doesn't mention the strange bit of domestic over-familiarity when he speaks. 

"That is Stephen Captor, my roommate, although you'd better call him Sollux if you don't want him to throw an epic hissy-fit. Apparently he still thinks it's 1995, because he doesn't respond to anything but his 'L33T H4XXOR" name. He's a programmer, but he thinks he's a fucking cyberpunk or something. I have no idea what kind of metaphorical "hat" he wears, but I suspect he's more likely to be coding websites for florists and doggy groomers than hacking the fucking Pentagon." 

I snort, laughing at the obvious affection underneath the layers of scorn. Karkat's acting more like an overprotective mother than a roommate, so I guess there's a history there. One where he almost lost Sollux, I'd be willing to bet, from the care he's taking over the sandwich he's preparing. Karkat tells me to have a seat and stop staring at him, so I sit on the couch and have a look around. 

The windows are both open in the room, letting in the street noise and the scent of one of the neighbors cooking something that smells delicious. I guess they don't have air-con because it's a billion degrees in here. I remove my stupid hoodie, revealing my favorite old broken-record tee and almost wishing I could take off my jeans as well. Sollux might be a prick, but he's got the right idea on how to keep cool. Goddamn global fucking warming can eat a dick, summers in NY were bad enough back before the Batterwitch started pumping greenhouse gasses into the atmosphere like there's no tomorrow. 

I'm admiring how neat the rest of the place is, no doubt Karkat's handiwork, when he sits down next to me and hands me a glass of water. I guess I shouldn't be surprised he doesn't have AJ, but I'm used to everywhere I go keeping some in the fridge for me. Spoiled rich dude problems, huh? The smell of the neighbour's cooking has woken my appetite, so I offer to order a pizza. Karkat rolls his eyes at the junk food, but grudgingly agrees on the condition that I order a pineapple and anchovy pizza for Sollux. That kid's tastebuds must be as twisted as his manners. 

The movies in Karkat's collection are mostly romantic comedies, a genre I have almost zero interest in, so I let him pick whatever he wants. In the safety of his home, he seems a lot more comfortable around me, and almost immediately wraps his arms around me. Damn, Karkat's good to snuggle with, and I shift him until he's leaning up against me with my arms across his chest. I can't really interfere with him from here, unless I feel like tickling him through his shirt, but it's nice to have this much contact with him even if it makes me want to do more than that. 

He extracts himself when the pizza arrives, and I hear the open and close of Sollux's door as he takes his disgusting meal into his room. Ours is a more conventional pepperoni affair, and I manage to eat my fill without getting cheese or sauce all over my shirt. When Karkat is done eating, I kick my shoes off and grab him around the waist, pulling him on top of me as I put my feet up on the couch. He grumbles a little, tensing, but from this position I can kiss him, and I feel him relax against me when I plant one on his forehead. 

I don't make any move to initiate makeouts, remembering the way he'd recoiled earlier when I was too pushy. Karkat seems happy lying on my chest, though, his arm draped lazily across me and legs intertwined with mine. I can feel him getting fidgety as the characters on screen cease their arguing and start making out, so it doesn't exactly take me by surprise when he shifts up my side and does the same. He must really like rom-coms, because he's going at it way more intensely than I expected. 

Things are starting to get uncomfortable in my jeans as Karkat pushes his tongue into my mouth, and his hand into my hair. My shades disappear at some point but I'm damned if I know where they go. His practiced, seductive technique from last night goes out of the fucking window, and this feels more like need than want. I hold him tightly, pulling him fully on top of me, and he lets out a little moaning sound as I grab a handful of magnificent asscheek. He's got to be aware that I'm hard as a rock right now, but he doesn't seem concerned by it. What does stop him in his tracks, however, is when keys rattle in the front door, and a loud, high pitched voice calls out: 

"Hi Honey, hi Grumpykat, what're you boys up to? I brought groceries!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn it Feferi.


	13. Getting to know each other

Shit, shit, shit. I fumble for my glasses as Karkat jumps off me like he's been electocuted. Both of us are rocking matching mortified expressions, and I can tell Karkat's been enjoying himself as much as I have. Improvising, I pull him into a sort of sideways hug so that he's covering my crotch and he can draw his knees up to hide his own. 

Clearing his throat, Karkat sounds more than a little shaken when he calls out his reply. 

"We're in here, Fef. Strider and I are watching a goddamn movie so if you're going to fangirl out like a fucking tweenager, go do it in Captor's room." 

"OH MY GOD!!" is the response, so high that the neighbourhood dogs are probably putting their paws over their ears. 

A little blur of dark curls and brightly coloured clothing dumps the grocery bags on the counter, before bouncing toward us like the boulder from raiders of the lost ark. 

"Oh, oh, I'm such a huge fan! I can't believe you're in our apartment! And you're so cute all snuggled up with grumpy! How'd you two meet? He won't tell us anything but I know he's had a crush on you for forever! Well, we all knew, I'm not sure he did! He just wouldn't shut up about how terrible your movies are, it was so adorable!" 

Well, that is new information. Karkat's gone bright red, and I should probably divert the attention of this girl who talks like she's swallowed a box of exclamation points. 

"He towed my car and stole my heart," I say, smirking and turning on my signature cool. "What's your name, cutie?" 

It's her turn to blush now, as Karkat does a double face-palm in my arms. I can tell by now he hates the cool-shtick with a passion. 

"It's, uh, Feferi.' 

Now she's turned shy, and I've got her on the ropes. 

"Nice to meet you Feferi. Would you like me to sign anything for you?" 

She looks like she might burst with excitement at that suggestion, but Karkat's response is an enraged little scream of anguish. 

"Yes, yes this is all very fucking lovely, but can you just fuck the fuck off now Fef, before I'm crushed to death in the singularity of Strider's ego," he growls through gritted teeth. 

She giggles in a way I've only seen animated Japanese schoolgirls do, gives me a little wave, (which I return with a finger-gun and a wink), and slips away into Sollux's room. The loud sounds of squeaky excitement continue to come through the wall for a few more minutes, before he figures out a way to shut her up. 

Karkat is giving me the dirtiest look I've ever seen, so I guess I should add "encouraging Feferi" to the mile long list of things that annoy him. 

"What?" I grin at him, trying to look as winningly handsome as possible. 

He grumbles a reply, rewinding the movie so he can watch the substantial part that we've missed. 

"You fucking know what, you insufferable ass." 

"I'd suffer your ass any day of the week, KitKat." I reply, hauling him into my lap. 

He struggles a little, but leans into me contentedly when he gets absorbed in the movie. I entertain myself by nuzzling into his neck, breathing on him in a way that causes little shivers down his spine. He's got some fucking willpower from somewhere though, because he's apparently determined to watch his movie. It cracks a little, his breathing speeding up, when I start kissing his neck, gently at first but then with more passion as I get my teeth involved. Just when I think I'm going to shatter his facade of indifference, noises from the other room break the spell. 

I have no idea which wall Sollux's headboard is against, but the sound of the two colliding is loud and fucking clear. The accompanying moans are all his, too, which surprises me. I would have though she'd be the noisy one. Karkat buries his head in his hands as the noises intensify, the rhythm speeding until I'm pretty fucking jealous of that poor girl. Holy shit. 

"Ugh. He's doing this to fuck with me, being deliberately goddamn loud. Fef's normally screaming at the top of her lungs by now, but at least she has the decency to be quiet," Karkat groans, "he's such an assmuncher sometimes." 

I squeeze him a little, amused by his discomfort. 

"Sounds like he's fucking with someone else if you ask me. Plus, I don't give a shit, dude. It's not like I have to look at 'em, and I probably shouldn't admit it but it's kind of hot." 

He turns and looks at me as if I just vomited all over him. 

"Gross, Strider. You really are sick, aren't you?" 

"Aww c'mon, it's not my fault. It's post-sexomatic-stress disorder from all those Hollywood parties my poor, innocent past self got invited to. It's not like I'd want to watch them goin at it or anything creepy. it's just. You know. Sexy." 

He hits me with a cushion, and I can tell he doesn't agree. 

"D'you want to get out of here?" I ask, "we could go see a movie, or there's always casa de Strider if you want to grab some of your DVDs. I don't have any roommates." 

He's thinking it over, but when the door to Sollux's now-silent room clicks open and he wanders naked into the kitchen to grab two sodas from the fridge, Karkat starts frantically gathering his DVDs. My wolf-whistle earns me a middle finger from the retreating Sollux, and a loud giggle from the direction of the bedroom. 

Karkat insists we take the subway, so we wander through streets that had been gentrified not too long ago. Now, since the Condesce stopped giving a shit about any crime that she couldn't make a buck on, there's grafitti on the walls and broken glass in the gutters. 

The seventh avenue express is quiet, most people heading in the opposite direction. It's been over a decade since I caught the subway, and the disrepair it's fallen into is a shock. The seats are covered with cigarette burns, and both the inside and outside of the car has been tagged to within an inch of it's life. I wonder what Karkat's point is in bringing me here, but I'll bet it's that I'm a lucky son of a bitch and I shouldn't complain so much. 

While we sit click-clacking downtown, I ask him what Sollux's deal is, and how the hell he can see through those glasses. 

"He's Bipolar. That was a particularly graphic illustration of a manic phase, but he also gets depressive moods, which is why he's supposed to take his fucking meds. He's also got monochromacy, colour blindness. He only sees black and white. The glasses are meant to increase the contrast so he can distinguish shades of grey better. That enough exposition for you, or should I write you a fucking character bio?" 

Poor guy. He got dealt a lot of shitty cards in life, so I can forgive a little casual nudity. Karkat seems confused by his behavior, but it seems pretty self-explanatory to me. 

"He's also insanely jealous, dude. I don't think he likes the idea of not having you all to himself. Not in like, a sexy way, but I'll be willing to bet he doesn't have many friends. It probably doesn't help that his girlfriend wants to bone me too." 

"Who else wants to "bone" you, Strider?" He says, smirking. 

I kiss him on the mouth as a reply. We inevitably miss our stop.


	14. On the importance of soundproofing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the 100 Kudos!
> 
> As a reward, here are two extra chapters of smut for your weekend :D

The sky has turned ominous while we rode the train, and the pressure in the air tells us that there's a storm about to break. We're somewhere in Greenwich Village, and I'm strangely amused when I notice the station is Houston street. The streets are busy, people rushing home before the rain comes, and I hold tight to Karkat's hand so I don't lose him in the crowd. He's so frigging short I'd have no chance of finding him. 

I left my hoodie back at his place, so when the first drops of rain hit me as we cut through a little park, I feel it through my shirt. It's warm, not unpleasant, but it's probably acidic as shit so I pull him into a jogging half-run. We're soaked by the time we reach my doorstep, my shirt sticking to me. Whatever his turtleneck is made of, it doesn't have the cling-factor of cotton, disappointingly. His hair is plastered to his face, though, dripping points of fringe shedding water into his eyes. They've turned red, irritated, which confirms my theory about the rain. Unlocking the door, I lead him up to what I once laughably thought of as a pretty humble apartment. 

The place is perfect, as usual, by whatever secretive process I apparently pay for so that I don't have to care about it. Karkat is both awestruck at the photos and awards hanging in the hallway, and mildly disgusted at the fact I'm proud enough of them to hang them up. He protests when I tell him to shower off the acidic residue, but when I catch him rubbing at his eye, I'm not taking no for an answer. I dig out a black hoodie and some sweat pants from my closet, and hand him a fluffy towel. I hope his underwear is still dry, because I think it'd be pushing my luck if I suggested one of my pairs of Sweet Bro boxers. 

While I'm waiting for him to emerge from beneath the monsoon-style shower-head, I sit on one of the bar-stools up against the kitchen counter and take in the luxuriousness of my surroundings. The whole place might not be much bigger than Karkat's, but the furniture is hand tooled leather and the TV takes up most of one wall. The "futon" that serves as the main couch folds out into a king-size bed, thicker and softer than most people's mattresses. Maybe I don't live like a billionaire, but I sure as hell live like a rich poser. Karkat interrupts my self-loathing session by wandering in, the cuffs of the oversized sweatpants dragging on the thick carpeting. He finishes toweling his hair, before gazing around at the high ceilings and expensive decor. 

"Fuck. If I ever doubted you were a rich asshole, I don't any more. You seriously have black leather furniture like some kind of cartoon bachelor, and that fucking bathroom is like something from a Las Vegas hotel suite." 

I nod, not really knowing what to say to that. On one hand I'm proud of everything I've earned, dragging myself up from nothing to a point where I can afford to insulate myself from the reality of the world. On the other hand, I'm starting to think that the insulation might be too thick, and I wonder when exactly I transitioned from being someone who spent an hour a week watching their shirts spinning in the launderette to someone who doesn't even think about the fact they magically reappear in the closet a few days after being dumped in the hamper. 

I tell him to make himself at home, pointing out the TV remotes and the hidden cupboard that houses the fridge. Showering, I try not to think about the fact that Karkat was recently naked in here. OK, truthfully, I think about it the entire time. The pile of his clothes on top of the hamper isn’t helping, although I restrain myself from my earlier activities, switching the shower to cold for a few seconds before I step out to calm myself down. I'm only human. 

He's perched on the edge of the futon sipping a cappuccino when I step back into the lounge dressed in another pair of jeans and a less stupid hoodie. I'm impressed that he's figured out the coffee machine, and I feel my heart leap a little when I notice he's made a black coffee for me too. It's all I can do not to take the cup out of his hands and kiss him right then and there. There's a movie menu dancing noiselessly on the giant screen, the sound muted. Sitting down next to Karkat, I notice his face is lined with worry. 

"Strider…” He stops, looking at me intently, “Dave. Is it OK if I ask what this is? Look, I'm not fucking complaining, it's basically too good to be true, but what do you want? Do you want me, or do you just want sex? I'm not going to be upset either way, I just need to know." 

He looks down at his coffee, obviously uncomfortable. It's something I've been turning over in my mind, asking myself the same question. Sure, he's hot, and I'm achingly attracted to him. But I've also had more fun chatting and hanging out with him over the past few days than I've had in the last year. I don't want to go back to not having him around. 

"I want you, dude. For as long as you want to stick around." I smile at him, realizing that I hope it's a very long time. 

He returns it, and I know I said the right thing. His smile is so goddamn sweet I can't help myself. I kiss him gently, not disturbing his cup of coffee. I drink my own, slowly, my shoulder against his and his hand clasped in mine, as we watch the movie from where we left off. 

When it's finished, he puts a hand on my cheek and pulls me on top of him, kissing me the way he did before. I'm just as clumsy, my need for him surfacing from somewhere deep inside, raw and all-consuming. He fills my world, soft lips and damp curls overwhelming my senses. His hands grip my back fiercely, and I desperately want to feel all of him against all of me. He freezes, tense, when I stroke a hand tentatively under his shirt. 

“Dave, stop a minute…I need to tell you some stuff, OK?” 

I roll off him, lying next to him on the expanse of cushion. I prepare for whatever it is, the tone of his voice telling me it’s going to be something serious. 

“My last relationship was a heap of shit, OK? We were best friends in high-school, he was just this sweet, stoner idiot. After college, we reconnected, and he was just the same. Only, this time he wanted to be more than just friends, and I was OK with that. But, after a while he stopped being sweet, and he stopped being…gentle, and he started telling me I was a piece of shit.” 

I look at him, sorrow welling up inside me, and take a deep breath to say something. To tell him how wonderful he is, and how much I want him to know that. 

“Stop, Strider.” He cuts me off before I can speak, “I know what you’re going to say, OK? I know it’s all bullshit, and I hate that piece of filth for making me feel that way. I know what he did was reprehensible. But it took me too long to see it, and when Sollux finally persuaded me to visit him here, he told me I was an idiot and that I was never going back. He let me stay in his shitty rented room for six months. I…I’ve never been more grateful to anyone.” 

That explains the affection toward his roommate, I just got their relationship the wrong way around. I have new admiration for the skinny programmer, and I make a note to get to know him better. Karkat isn’t finished, but the last part makes my heart break a little. 

“I’m just not…I’m not sure what I’m doing. I want to do this, do fucking…everything, OK? I want this relationship is to work. But I can’t fucking relax, and I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do. And it makes me so goddamn angry that he’s still fucking me up. Fucking this up for me.” 

He’s crying a little, a few tears rolling silently down his face. I wipe them away, wrapping my arm around him and pulling him close. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing either. Hearing him spill his guts about someone abusing him makes me realize that I care about him more than I have any right to, after knowing him for less than a week. 

“I’m so sorry, man. I didn’t have a clue anything like that had happened. I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want, and I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a rusty skewer than hurt you. And I don’t give a shit how long it takes for you to feel comfortable, OK? You’re in the driving seat.” 

I feel him relax, snuggling into me a little. I want to make him smile again, want to see the light in his eyes and hear the snark in his words. I want him to be happy. 

“What do you want to do now, I mean, do you want to watch another movie? Or just, like, listen to music or something? I’ve only got shit you’ll probably hate, though. I assume you aren’t into playlists that mix from Skrillex to Gina G via the theme to Thomas the Tank Engine.” 

He snorts, and I get a surge of pride from making him laugh. 

“I’m fine right here,” He replies, and kisses me again. 

He starts soft, but gets increasingly passionate, and I’m worried about making him uncomfortable again. When he takes my hand and places it under his shirt, I stroke the soft skin underneath. He’s not muscular, but not skinny either. Instead, there’s a pleasing layer of softness over his ribs. I feel him reaching up under my shirt, gasping slightly into my mouth when he feels the musculature underneath. I spend a lot of time training, but he doesn’t know that. I grin when he lifts my shirt off, kissing his neck as a reward. I love the little noises I’m wringing out of him, and he helps me when I pull his shirt over his head. I can tell we’re getting close to the edge of his comfort-zone, his body vibrating slightly with a mixture of desire and tension that has to be absolutely maddening for him. I can think of one way to help him relax. 

His breathing speeds up as I kiss my way down his chest, and I know he knows where I’m going. 

“Dave…you don’t have to…I don’t want you to do that if you don’t want…” 

"Do you want me to stop?" I ask, worried that I'm crossing a line. 

"God no," He gasps, "I just...you don't have to. I don't want you to feel like you have to." 

“Karkat, stop worrying. I can’t explain how much I want to make you feel good. I’m going to fucking lose it if I don’t.” I grin at him, and he returns it through a nuclear meltdown of a blush. 

I gently pull the waistband of the sweatpants down, and he’s not wearing anything underneath. I guess his underwear was too damp from the rain, after all. When I kiss him softly, he shivers, his hand flying up to cover his face. I’m not used to doing this, I tend to be more of a receiver, if I’m honest. But doing this for Karkat is almost as good. After a few minutes of attention from my mouth and tongue, he’s rocking slightly under me, his hand grasping and tangling into my hair. He still isn’t making any noise, though, and I can’t imagine why. I release him so that I can deliver some encouragement. 

“You don’t have to be quiet, man. This apartment is totally soundproof, the neighbors insisted after they heard my music collection.” 

He laughs, and lets out a huff of air he’s obviously been holding in. This time he’s not so quiet, and when I tease him by moving slowly, he lets out a long, low, moan. I slow down more, knowing it’ll get a reaction. 

“Dave...please…mmph…” 

I get the message, speeding up and going as deep as I can. My tongue finds the spot that makes his moans get louder and louder, practically turning into screams as he gets close. When I slow down and withdraw my tongue, he gives me some of the sass I love so much. 

“Strider…fucking…get on with it…you unbearable…fuckass!” 

He’s bucking slightly into my mouth when I sense the approaching orgasm, and I take over with my hand. I never really landed in either the spit or swallow camp, preferring to put the good old fashioned Strider agility to good use. It means he finishes with my mouth on his neck, kissing and nibbling at the skin below his earlobe, before finally relaxing into a shivering mess. 

“Feeling better, gorgeous?” I ask, kissing his neck gently. 

“Mmmgh,” is his reply, which I interpret as a “yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not advocating oral sex as a treatment for people who've suffered in abusive relationships, in this case Karkat's had a lot of therapy and has dealt with things on a mental level. Unfortunately, it's not so easy to convince your body of that, especially when it's the first relationship you've had since.
> 
> Plus, it's a nice way to show you care :-)


	15. Star-crossed lovers in another life

Karkat seems to be happy with me pressing myself against him as he gets his breath back. His face and chest are flushed a delicious pink, and I want him so fucking much. Seeing him so relaxed, so vulnerable and open, is like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. I kiss his neck again, getting a surge of excitement when he makes a purring growling noise in the back of his throat. Holy shit, when did he become directly wired to the pleasure-center of my brain? My jeans are going to need to get friendly with the floor very soon. I should probably get him something to clean himself up with first, and the nearest thing is my shirt. Sorry, mysterious laundry person, but I've given you plenty of semen-free years so you can just deal with it. He kisses the top of my head as I hand it to him, and snuggles against me when he's finished. I can hear the uncertainty in his voice, underneath the hazy relaxation of the afterglow, when he asks if he wants me to return the favor. 

"Dave...do you want me to do that for you?" 

Oh god yes yes yes please... 

Get a hold of yourself, Strider. Don’t pressure the kid. 

"Only if you want to, Karkat. And absolutely not if it'll make you uncomfortable.” 

He hesitates, looking a little confused, and that’s enough to tell me he’s not ready. 

“It’s OK, dude. Don’t worry about it. The only thing I want to know now is: your hand or mine?” 

He laughs, a full, relaxed laugh I haven’t heard before. Tapping my back to get me to move up the couch, he kisses me lazily as his hand works its way down to my jeans. I pop the button, and he snorts with amusement at how impatient I am. He frees the other hand from underneath me, and pushes them down. I’m happy to help them all the way off. I pluck gently at his waistband, wondering if he’ll mind if I take off his pants, and he responds by slipping them off his narrow hips. Pressing myself against him sends tingles all over my skin, and when I feel his hand on me, I kiss him so hard he has to pull his head back into the cushion. So much skin-contact is intoxicating; it’s been a long time since I had anyone naked underneath me, let alone anyone as unbelievably attractive as Karkat. Whatever it is about him that turns my brain into mush, it makes his task that much easier. He strokes me slowly, lovingly, intensifying as I groan into his shoulder. I hear myself shudder out his name as the pleasure spreads across my body, and I want it to last forever. 

“Goddamn, dude.” I manage, when I can finally manage a coherent sentence. 

“Damn straight,” Is his reply, accompanied a lazy grin. 

The shirt should probably just go in the trash now, I’m not sure I can demand that an employee handle two scoops of liquid happiness. I nuzzle up to him, this person who fell into my life out of nowhere but fits like there was a space for him all along. He fits perfectly in my arms. Karkat interrupts my pink haze of romantic thoughts with some practicality. 

“Can we get a blanket or something? It’s fucking freezing in your tacky bachelor pad, Strider.” 

I push him further into the couch, squashing him against the cushions. 

“I’ll keep you warm, babe.” I say, with a huge helping of smug. 

He swats at me with his free arm, and I let him go when he gives me a ringing slap on the ass. 

“I can do one better than a blanket,” I chuckle, fetching one from the hall closet. Pressing a lever on the side of the futon, I convert it into bed mode. He rolls into the middle, and I chuck him the blanket. When I come back with a pair of pillows from my bed, he’s already popped another movie into the player, and I grin as I realize we’re on the same page. Joining him under the blanket, I stroke his body slowly with my hands, exploring what I was too impatient to before. He snickers, and takes the opportunity to do the same. 

“Fuck, Karkat. You are the hottest. It is you.” 

He sticks his tongue out and rolls onto his back, pulling both pillows under his head. I nudge him across, pushing him as he resists moving, so that I can share them. He hits play and we watch another stupid rom-com. It turns out that they’re much more enjoyable when I’m curled up with a naked Karkat. When it’s finished, I look up into those big brown eyes and pop the question I’ve wanted to ask all day. To find out if this is a relationship or not. 

“So, am I your boyfriend or your sugar daddy? I have no idea how old you are, dude.” 

“Boyfriend, you ass. I’m 28 not fucking 18.” 

Boyfriend. Nice. 

“Sweet.”I reply, and propose an idea. 

“You don’t work Fridays, right? From this day forth, I declare Fridays to be “Naked Fridays.” 

Karkat kicks me in the shins, apologizing when he realizes he did it way too hard. To my dismay, he sits up and starts searching around for his clothes. 

“What’re you doing, Karkat? Don’t violate the sanctity of Naked Fridays.” 

“I should go home, Strider. Someone needs to feed Sollux and take him for a fucking walk. Otherwise he’ll end up pissing all over the carpet.” 

I don’t want him to go. It’s probably selfish of me, but I also think Karkat deserves a night off once in a while. Provided he wants to stay, of course, and isn’t just using Sollux as an excuse. 

“If you wanted to stay, I think Feferi can handle him for the evening. She can cook and walk, right? No pressure, though.” I smile at him, “If you want to go, I don’t mind.” 

He rubs the back of his neck, thinking. 

“I would like to stay, I really fucking want to. But are you sure it isn’t too soon? We barely even know each other. But…it doesn’t feel that way. I shouldn’t be this comfortable around you. No offense.” 

He’s right. It feels like I’ve known him for years, and I can’t explain why. 

“Well, we did just have sex, dude. Don’t you have to be pretty comfortable around someone for that?” He glares at me, and I know that’s not the answer he was after. 

“OK, look, I agree. I can’t explain it either. Maybe we were star-crossed lovers in another life or something? Or some other equally poetic slash romantic bullshit.” 

Karkat thinks that over, and then yells “Fuck” out of nowhere. Staring at me, he completely kills the mood. 

“Strider, you didn’t use a condom.” 

My stomach drops like a stone. Shit, I probably should have. Despite his original opinion of me as a disease-riddled man-whore, I've always been fastidious with my sexual health. The only person to ever give me anything was the one person before Karkat who got me to drop my guard. I guess I should be grateful I didn't have to be circusized afterwards. Not the time for puns, Strider. Focus. 

“Uh, should I have? I mean, I know I just put your junk in my mouth, but you don’t have anything deadly, do you?” 

He shakes his head, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I thought he was about to tell me I’d just contracted oral gonorrhoea or something worse. Until he mentioned condoms, I hadn't even considered the possibility that he might have anything catching. We'd fumbled over each other like a pair of virgins, almost approaching the trust inherent in being each other's first time. That level of passion, but with the benefit of experience. 

“No, I don’t have anything. But you didn’t know that. I mean, you didn’t even ask. I know you’re a fucking idiot, but surely you’re not stupid enough to blow somebody you barely know without a condom.” 

I consider admitting that I don’t really do that for anyone; or rather I haven’t done it for a long time. I want to keep at least some of my cool, though. 

“I guess I am. Or maybe I just trust you, Karkat. Either way, it didn’t feel wrong to me. And you didn’t exactly complain.” I sigh, and put my arm around his waist. “This “I’m sure I know you from somewhere” crap is confusing, can we just go back to high-fiving over the mutual orgasms?” 

He sighs, relaxing again as I snuggle into him. Leaning back, Karkat grabs his phone from somewhere and starts tapping on the screen, messaging Feferi or Sollux. His face screws itself into a frown, and I can almost see his lips moving as he has some kind of text-based argument with Sollux. Eventually, he tosses the phone across the room, and stretches out on the futon. 

“I had to promise to take him to the fucking electronics store so he can ogle cables and motherboards for fucking hours, and then go home and order them off the goddamn internet anyway, but I can stay.” 

I laugh, poking him gently in the ribs. “Glad you got permission from the wife.” 

He growls and starts tickling, and somehow he knows exactly where to do it. When he’s forced all of the air out of my body with his questing fingers, I beg him to stop. Relenting, he jabs me in the side. 

“He’s just being protective, you douchemuffin. He’s seen me get hurt before. Badly.” 

Curling around him, I take him into my arms. 

“He won’t have to see it again, dude. Not if I can help it.” 

He snuggles into me, and I’m so glad he towed my dearly departed car. An idea floats to the surface of my brain, carried on a tide of endorphins. 

“You wanna take a bath, man? The tub’s big enough for both of us, and it has more massage options than a Chinese spa.” 

Karkat’s face lights up, the happiness in his eyes turning my stomach to jelly. 

“Hell fucking yes, Strider. All of the yes.” 

He protests, loudly, when I pick him up bridal-style and carry him to the bathroom. The Jacuzzi tub was an extravagance, but I’ve never been more glad that I’m a hideous cliché of a pampered rich kid. I put him down, gently, realizing It’s going to take a fucking age to fill with water. 

Karkat grins, “what’s the fucking plan now, genius? So used to being waited on hand-and-foot that you’ve forgotten how to run a bath?” 

He pulls himself up so he’s sitting on the counter next to the sink, admiring the view as I flick the water on and throw in some of the bath products that have sat undisturbed since Rezi walked out. I really only have showers when I’m alone. I make him pay for his sass with my mouth, and by the time he’s slapping me on the shoulder to tell me to turn the fucking water off before it spills out over the floor, I’m really, really ready to be wet and naked with him. I pick him up again, and gently lower him most of the way before dropping him the last six inches. The tub is deep enough that he disappears completely below the surface, water splashing everywhere, and I giggle like an idiot as I jump in after him. He emerges from beneath the bubbles with both middle fingers proudly displayed, and lunges for me, forcing me under. I kiss him when I come back up, and we simultaneously lose interest in trying to drown each other. 

Later, when I introduce him to my actual bed, he almost comes in the pants I’ve lent him. 

“Fuck.” He sighs, collapsing into the soft embrace of the most expensive mattress money can buy. I don’t cut corners when it comes to my sleep. I can see him flexing his back into the springs, testing the resistance of the thousands of pockets. My heart melts when I see him do likewise, muscles relaxing as he lets the bed cradle him. I join him, wearing boxers even though I usually don’t wear anything. The covers are thick and warm, and I hope he won’t overheat in the night. I sleep with the air-con cranked up, though, so it should be fine. Flicking the light off, I work my way over to him, cuddling him as if he was a favorite childhood toy. He makes happy, sleepy little sounds, and I realize how tired he must be. Shit, I’m tired too, but I haven’t had half of the emotional tension that he’s had to deal with. As much as I want to go to sleep wrapped around him, I need my space, so I roll across to the other side of the bed. He doesn’t react, already fast asleep. After a few minutes of contented action-replay footage in my mental cinema, I feel myself slip into comfortable oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50p for anyone who gets the JoCo reference :D


	16. Not all dreams come true

The dream is new, but oddly familiar. Squirming a little, I realize Karkat’s back is pressed up against me. I give him a gentle push, trying to get him to roll across the expanse of mattress and out of my personal space, but he’s pushed up against a wall. There certainly shouldn’t be a wall there. Rolling onto my back, I figure out too late that this is a single mattress, and I feel myself falling. As I hit what feels like a cold, metal floor, I wake with a start. 

He isn’t there. I’m used to the feeling of disappointment, and I shove it down into the pit of my stomach for a few minutes before realizing that there actually should be someone else in my bed. For the first time I’m not searching for an imaginary presence, but a tangible person. Where the fuck is Karkat? Listening in the darkness, I can just about hear the sounds of sobs coming from the bathroom. The bedroom and hallway blur past me as I run full tilt toward the sound, the idea of Karkat crying alone forcing icy needles into my heart. I reach for the handle, and then decide I should probably knock instead. He may not want someone just barging in on him. 

When I knock, gently, the reaction I get is not the one I’m expecting. 

“FUCK OFF, YOU FUCKING CREEP! I CAN’T BELIEVE I EVER LET YOU NEAR ME!” 

I swallow, clearly something has happened that I’ve missed. 

“What? Rewind, Karkat, what have I done? I don’t get it, man.” 

I hear him take a few ragged, gasping breaths. 

“WHY…THE FUCK…DO YOU HAVE A ROOM FULL OF FUCKING KNIVES? I SHOULD HAVE FUCKING KNOWN THIS WAS ALL A SET UP, AS IF I’D END UP WITH A GODDAMNED MILLIONAIRE! CONGRATULATIONS CINDERS, YOU FOUND THE RIGHT TYRE FOR YOUR MAGIC YELLOW BOOT! IT'S A MOTHERFUCKING DREAM COME TRUE! YOU WERE JUST LOOKING FOR SOMEONE WHO WOULDN’T BE MISSED, SOME PATHETIC LITTLE LOSER WHO'S SO DESPERATE FOR ATTENTION THEY'LL FOLLOW YOU HOME, LET YOU FUCK THEM, AND THEN PRACTICALLY BEG YOU TO SLIT THEIR FUCKING THROAT!” 

Shit. Fuck. Karkat must have wandered into my training room, the racks of swords and knives probably looking like a serial killer’s wet dream in the middle of the night. In a strange apartment. With someone you barely know. Who you just had sex with. Oh god, no wonder he's doing an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle. Shit, shit, what the fuck do I do? His sobs are getting louder, verging on hysteria, and I don’t want him to hyperventilate and pass out in there. I try to sound as calm as possible when I reply. 

“Shit, I’m so fucking sorry, Karkat. I guess you got lost on the way to the bathroom? Look, I train with swords, OK? You just wandered into my sword training room. It’s a hobby; I've done it since I was a kid. I’ve never used them on anything other than a combat dummy. Karkat, I would never, ever, use them on a person.” 

Unless I have to. Unless the Batterwitch sends her fucking minions after me. The thought of that makes me feel sick. Karkat doesn’t sound any calmer, his breaths still coming in desperate gasps. 

“YEAH, OF COURSE I FUCKING BELIEVE YOU! “COME OUT KARKAT, I WON’T HURT YOU, EVEN THOUGH YOU DISCOVERED MY SECRET MURDER ROOM.” TOTALLY FUCKING BELIEVABLE.” 

I sigh, resting my head gently on the door. 

“Training room, dude. If it was a secret murder room, don’t you think I’d have bothered to lock it? Or hide it in any way? Murderers don’t keep their fucking tools on display for anyone who just wanders into the apartment. I assume. From watching Dexter.” 

Silence from the other side of the door is an improvement, but still not great. 

“Dude, I didn't get you to follow me home, I took you for dinner, then you invited me round to your place. If Sollux hadn't been nailing his girlfriend to the wall, we'd have spent the whole evening making out on your fucking couch. And I didn't fuck you, Karkat, I didn't do anything you didn't want me to. In case you haven't noticed, I've been trying to date you not groom you. I like you, man. Look, I don’t expect you to come out of there, but just listen. Do you have your phone with you?” 

He sniffs, his breathing a little calmer. 

“Yes. Why? Are you worried I’ll call the fucking cops on you?” 

I laugh, which probably doesn’t help matters. “Dude, no. I’m pretty sure it’s not illegal to own some swords. I didn’t threaten you with them, and I don’t think you want to lie to the cops just to get me thrown in the slammer. Even if you are extra angry at me right now. I was just going to send you a link that'll help prove I'm not a complete weirdo.” 

I can’t hear anything from the bathroom while I fumble around with my phone, looking for the link to the old newspaper article. Journalists haven’t managed to dig it up, even after all these years, but that has more to do with the obscurity of the newspaper than anything else. I hit send, and wait for Karkat to open it. 

After what seems like forever, I hear him moving a little closer to the door. 

“Who the fuck is David Smith?” 

“As if you have to ask, Karkat, there’s clearly a little blonde kid wearing shades and a gi in that picture.” 

“Okay, fuck you. What the fuck is kendo?” 

I sigh. I don’t think he’s in a reading mood, but the article is fairly self-explanatory. 

“It’s fighting with stick swords, dude. It says it right there. I’m clearly holding one in the picture, in the hand that isn’t holding the Texas under-12 state-champion’s trophy. My trophy, doofus. It’s still in the goddamn training room, but I can understand if you were distracted by all of the edged weapons.” 

He’s still silent. I don’t want to push him to come out, I know that’ll only make him scared of me. But I also don’t want to leave him in there freaking out. He needs someone he can trust right now. 

“Look, Karkat. Do you want to call Sollux and have him come get you? I think you need someone other than me here, and I guess he’d be the person you trust most. I can send a cab for him, if you want.” 

“No. Yes. I don’t know. Strider, look, I don’t think you’re a fucking serial killer, OK? You’re just someone I don’t know very well with a room full of swords that I walked into expecting to find a bathroom.” 

Understandable, I guess. 

“Look, I should have warned you about the training room, OK? I sort of forgot about it. I haven't been in there for a while.” 

I put a hand against the door, wishing I could hold him until he calms down. Hoping that he’ll ever trust me enough to let me hold him again. 

“Listen, nothing I said or did last night was a lie, Karkat. I…I want this to work, and I don’t want to do anything that’ll make you not trust me any more. Please give me a chance.” 

He snuffles. I can tell he’s closer to coming out than before, but I don’t think I want him to open the door just yet. He needs to feel safe. 

“Karkat, give me Sollux’s number, OK? I’ll have someone pick him up and bring him over, and you can have him for moral support. I’ll wake him up and deal with it, OK? If you want to just leave and never come back, I won’t try to stop you or anything, I promise. But I’ll be really bummed out about it. Cause, you know. I like you. A lot.” 

As lame as that sounded, it seems to work. Karkat mumbles the number to me through the door, and I dial it straight away. The first call rings out, but the second is answered by an angry, sleepy-sounding Sollux. 

“Who the fuck is this?” 

“It’s Dave. Strider.” 

There’s a loud sigh from the other end of the phone, but he doesn’t hang up. 

“Uh, Karkat’s having a bit of a freakout. I’m sending a cab to pick you up in ten minutes, if that’s OK, and you can talk to him about it? He’s a lot calmer than he was, but I think he could use a person he trusts.” 

“What. The fuck. Did you do?” 

There’s a level of righteous indignation in his voice that scares the shit out of me. I can’t explain it to him, there’s no way he’s going to believe anything from me. 

“Look, he’s got his phone, so just call him. He’s locked himself in the bathroom so he’s totally safe, alright? Not that he wouldn’t be safe anyway, because I’m not the fucking creep everyone seems to think I am.” 

Sollux groans, and I can hear Feferi asking what’s going on. He calls me a string of expletives before hanging up the phone, grudgingly agreeing to get into the cab. I call the cab myself, not using my assistant as I normally would, because I don’t want any more people involved than there needs to be. While I’m waiting for Sollux, I sit down on the floor and listen to see how Karkat’s doing. 

“How you feeling, man?” I ask, hoping that he won’t just ignore me. 

“Angry. Stupid. Embarassed.” He mutters, barely audible through the wood. “Basically the whole spectrum of “feeling like a piece of shit.” 

“Don’t do that to yourself, OK? This is my stupid fault, so please don’t beat yourself up. If I was in your position I probably would have shit my fucking pants from terror.” 

I hear a little laugh, which lifts the weight in my stomach slightly. 

“Not everyone has your appalling intestinal fortitude, Strider. I didn’t shit your precious pants.” 

It’s my turn to snort with laughter. I hear him shift so that his back is against the door, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

“Do you want me to go away?” I ask, wary of making him feel trapped. 

He doesn’t get a chance to answer, his ringtone cutting off his reply. 

I hear him answer Sollux, and although I probably shouldn’t, I listen to his side of the conversation. I figure it’s a good idea to find out exactly how angry Sollux is going to be when he arrives. 

“Hi Sol. No. No, he didn’t do anything to me. No. For fuck’s sake, Sol. Uh. Yes, kind of. No, you ass. He has a room full of swords, OK? I wandered in looking for the fucking bathroom. I freaked out. For training, apparently. He used to be some kind of champion at fighting with bamboo sticks or something. Yeah, I think so. He made me give him your number. OK. OK. Sol, I know it’s the middle of the fucking night, OK? Yeah. See you soon.” 

Well, it’s hard to tell from that. At least Karkat sounds calmer. We sit in silence for ten minutes. I can’t think of anything to say, and I guess neither can he. I buzz Sollux up, and when I open the apartment door, I immediately dodge to one side. His fist sails past my face, and he stumbles into the hallway. I anticipated he'd be angry as hell at me, regardless of what Karkat said, given their history together. He doesn’t try to finish the job; instead, he ignores me completely and sets off jogging down the hall, calling out desperately for Karkat. I hear the lock slam back and the bathroom door open, and the sound of Karkat pacifying his frantic roommate. I leave them to it, and go sit down at the kitchen counter. The place I go to sit when I’m stressing out. 

I can hear them talking, and I wonder if they’re going to say anything to me or just leave. Somehow, I know that if Karkat walks out now, there’s a good chance I’ll never see him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You worry too much, Dave.


	17. Who says humans don't have moirails?

After an agonising few minutes, Sollux leads a sniffling Karkat into the living-room. I hold my breath, waiting for one of them to speak. Karkat’s face is red, blotchy, his eyes fixed on the floor. Sollux groans and then gives him a little shove forward. 

“Karkat showed me the room of a thousand fucking swords, and while there is an extravagant amount of tacky-ass samurai shit in there, none of it appears to be murder or blood-fetish related. I can see why it scared the shit out of him, and the next time you invite someone over for blowjobs and bubblebaths, you might want to mention the fact that there’s what a only a teenage boy could consider to be a sensible amount of swords in the next room.” 

I feel my face flush with embarrassment when I realize exactly how much Karkat has told him about last night’s activities. Karkat looks equally uncomfortable. Sollux gives him another little tap on the back, and he’s suddenly flying into my arms, sobbing and babbling into my chest. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I shouldn’t have freaked out I should have listened to you and now you hate me and I’ve fucked everything up and you’ll never want to see me again.” 

I squeeze him gently, stroking his back and kissing the top of his head. Looking at Sollux, who is clearly disgusted by the display of affection, I’m surprised that he didn’t just grab Karkat and leave. He returns my inquisitive gaze stonily from behind his glasses, eventually giving me an exasperated sigh and a grudging explanation. 

“As much as it makes me want to project my stomach contents all over your ghastly furniture that he’s chosen to spend his time with a skeevy, smarmy fucknugget, you’re actually nice to him. And he likes you. There’s no accounting for taste, apparently.” 

Holding Karkat is a relief, even though he’s squeezing me like a vice. The deep, crushing fear that he was going to walk out and never come back starts to ebb away, and I realize I’m squeezing him just as tightly. He’s warm, and real, and I need him more than I have any right to. He probably needs some verbal reassurance too. 

“I don’t hate you, Karkat. Don’t worry, OK? Everything’s fine.” 

His sobs redouble, relief mixing with his tremors of anxiety. I shoosh him, holding him close. Sollux makes a noise that can only be described as “Eeuch.” 

“Thanks, Sollux.” I say, and I realise he can actually see the grateful look I’m giving him. I don’t have my shades on. 

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I’m going to crash on your gigantic fucking couch, and I’m going to need a blanket or a sheet or some disinfectant so I don’t have to think about what you’ve been doing on it.” 

He makes a face, and I’m really starting to wish Karkat hadn’t told him absolutely everything. Having said that, he’s in no fucking position to be judgemental about over-sharing. 

“Uh huh, and I’ll be sure to bring my earplugs and eye-bleach next time I visit the set of Nerds Gone Wild.” 

Sollux gives me a middle finger salute, but he does look a little embarrassed. I guess he either took his medication or he’s come down from his manic phase. Karkat has stopped his snuffling assault on my chest, breathing gently and deeply. He lets go of my waist, so I loosen my grip. When he looks up into my face, I can tell he’s beyond tired. I ask him what he wants to do, wary of putting any pressure on him. 

“Karkat, do you want to stay out here with Sollux?” 

He shakes his head, smiling a little at me through the birds’ nest of hair partially covering his eyes. My stomach does flips, and I have to suppress the urge to pick him up and squeeze him so hard he throws up. 

“Can I go back to bed, if that’s OK?” He mumbles, his voice a hoarse whisper from all of the crying and yelling. 

I laugh, “Of course, dude. I’ll get Sollux set up here, OK?” 

I grab some bedding from the closet, watching as Karkat stumbles into the bedroom. Poor little guy, he looks like he’s about to pass out on his feet. Sollux is standing, arms folded, when I return with sheets and another blanket. I doubt he’d appreciate having to sleep under the one we were using earlier. He doesn’t look impressed. 

“Strider. I am trying very, very hard to believe that you aren’t a complete creep. But if I ever get a phone call in the middle of the night again, you are fucking dead, do you understand me?” 

“Understood.” I’m pissed at him, to be honest, firstly because I didn’t fucking do anything, and secondly because I think I deserve a little credit for the fact that I’m the one who called him, and not a panicked, terrified Karkat. 

“But, seriously, Sollux. I’m not going to do anything to hurt him. I get that you want to protect him, and he’s your best friend, but if he’s ready to let someone in…then you have to be too.” 

He grunts an assent, and I hand him the bedding. He can figure it out on his own. Sollux’s emotions toward Karkat are obviously intense, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an element of attraction there. I know he has a girlfriend, but the way he looks at Karkat is way beyond the way a “best bro” would. There’s definitely love there, even if it isn’t romantic. 

The bedroom is dark, and I’m ambushed by a shivering Karkat when I climb into bed. He isn’t cold, so I assume it must be the comedown from one hell of an adrenaline high. I extract an arm from where he’s clamped himself to me, his face buried deep into my shoulder, and rub his back gently. From under the covers, I hear a tiny “M’sorry.” 

“Karkat, it’s fine. I’m so glad you didn’t just walk the fuck out. You must have been scared out of your goddamn mind.” 

“Mmm.” 

“Go to sleep, OK? I'm not mad.” 

“Kay, Dave. Th’ks” 

This time I don’t shift him away from me. Instead, after a few minutes, I feel his grip relax as he falls asleep. Karkat’s hair is pressed against my face, smelling faintly of coconut. He must have used one of the bottles of fancy shampoo I bought ages ago to cheer myself up. They hadn’t worked then, but they’re working now. Relaxing against him, I can feel sleep tugging at my mind, his warmth and closeness reminding me of the dream. He might be tiny, but he’s somehow managed to warp my mind around him like a grumpy little black-hole. Slipping sideways into unconsciousness with his arm across my chest is something I could get used to. 

The sleep is dreamless, and I wake to the sound of traffic and the rain drumming against glass. Karkat is curled up next to me, his back resting against my side. My usual shock upon waking is gone, replaced with an unfamiliar sense of synchronicity. For the first time in seventeen years, I wake to what I’m expecting to find. The usual sense of displacement, of revulsion at finding a strange person in my bed is blissfully absent. I'm being a stupid, romantic idiot, but I feel like I've found my...whatever I was looking for. No more searching. I can finally breathe after decades of holding my breath. 

The dream seems to confirm it, because no-one else has ever found their way into my dreams. Only him. Happiness swells in my chest as I roll over against him, the softness of the bed and the warmth of him filling my senses. He’s still asleep, breathing deeply into the pillows, and I guess the night’s drama must have taken a toll on him. I’m not ashamed to admit that I spend a good twenty minutes snuggling up to his sleeping back, breathing him in as I listen to the slow rise and fall of his chest. I can’t remember being this relaxed, this contented, in my entire adult life. After a while, however, the need to pee becomes too much to ignore. I reluctantly pry myself away from Karkat, careful not to disturb his sleep. 

After visiting the bathroom, I wander into the living-room to grab some AJ, completely forgetting that it contains a grumpy Sollux. Unfortunately, he’s awake, watching a shitty sitcom on the TV with the sound turned way down low. Belatedly, I remember I’m only wearing my Hella-Jeff boxers. Sollux stares at me with an eyebrow raised, but I recall the sight of his bare ass retreating into his bedroom and I suddenly have zero fucks to give. 

“KK awake?” He asks, returning his attention to the TV screen. 

“Nope.” I reply, fetching the carton from the fridge and restraining myself from drinking straight out of it. It’s my goddamn house, but I’m not an animal. 

He gets up from the couch, stretching himself to his full height, and grabs his sweater from the floor. 

“Fine. Well, I’m going to get out of this dump and let you deal with the inevitable KK shame spiral, since you’re so sure you want to be responsible for him. You owe me cab fare.” 

Typical, I guess. Sollux’s adjustment period is bound to be long and torturous, but I suppose I’ve got no choice but to deal with it. I fish out a hundred dollars from the batman cookie jar, which prompts him to roll his eyes and call me an arrogant shitstain before accepting it. On his way out of the front door, he pats me gently on the shoulder. As gestures of acceptance go, it’s not the best, but it feels like it means something coming from Sollux. 

I’m thankful he’s gone, and I hope Karkat doesn’t mind. He’s awake and looking adorably lost among the acres of covers when I walk back into the bedroom. I cant help but smile at the fact he's still here. 

“Mornin’, gorgeous. Did you sleep OK after the late night freakout?” 

I’m kidding, but when his face drops and he pulls the covers up over his head, I realize I said the worst possible thing. 

“Karkat, don’t worry. I’m just yanking your chain, man.” 

The reply is muffled by layers of fabric and feathers, but I’m pretty sure it’s “Too fucking soon, asshole.” 

Jumping onto an area of the bed that doesn’t contain any Karkat, I yank the covers away from his face. He’s still a little puffy around the eyes and he doesn’t look like he slept too well, but his wild thatch of hair is fucking adorable, as is the growl he makes when I ruffle it. I plant a soft kiss on his cheek, and I’m relieved when he doesn’t pull away. 

“Dave, I’m sorry.” Karkat’s still mumbling apologies at me, and they don’t show any signs of stopping. 

“Dude. Stop. You don’t need to apologise. If it’ll make you stop, I forgive you, OK?” He doesn’t look convinced, so I change the subject. 

“Sollux bounced out, said he’d see you later.” 

His shoulders relax a little; I guess he didn’t want to deal with him first thing in the morning either. Nonetheless, mentioning Sollux brings us back around to last-night’s incident. I need to distract him. 

“D’you want any breakfast? I got pop-tarts, Karkat. Fuckin’ pop-tarts.” 

I’ve never been so happy to see someone scowl. 

“Why, Strider? For the love of all that is holy, why do you have pop-tarts? And do you have any actual food?” 

I grin at him, turning the charm up to the max. 

“Nope. I’m trash, remember? Rich trash, admittedly, but I fucking love me some pop-tarts.” 

Score! An eye-roll and folded-arms combo. 

“If that’s all you have, then still no.” 

His frown disappears when I kiss him, gently deepening things when I feel him respond. I pull back, releasing his lips with a little sigh. I’ve kind of forgotten the point I was making. Oh yeah, that was it. 

“Hmm, I don’t think so. You seem to love the taste of cheap and nasty.” 

He groans, loudly, and I kiss him again. When I’m done, I roll off the bed and head to the kitchen. Breakfast in bed sounds like a legendary idea. Dancing down the hallway, I shove the pop-tarts in the toaster and make coffee, cappuccino for Karkat, black for me. He finally smiles when I bring them in, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of an impending caffeine injection. I deposit them on the side-table, and return for delicious strawberry goodness. Karkat doesn’t look too enthusiastic as he nibbles at his tarts, and I suspect he’s not used to the taste of so many additives. It tastes like heaven to me, though.


	18. You're totally my bitch forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think you're funny  
> That you tell me that  
> You're so honest  
> God, you're such a sexy mess
> 
> And I can't be around you  
> When you have your clothes on  
> So please let's stop talking  
> I'll help you undress
> 
> ~ Garfunkel & Oates - Places to Rest ~

After we finish eating, I snuggle Karkat to within an inch of his life. I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me; I’m not normally such a complete marshmallow. He struggles a little for effect, but after a few seconds he’s wrapped himself around me completely. I don’t care, I fucking love it. He squirms deeper into the hug, the fluffy top of his head pressing into my jaw. When he looks up into my eyes, I can’t take it any longer. I have to have him, right now.

Karkat squeaks a little with surprise as I pull him on top of me, mouth pressed against his neck. I’m so fucking desperate it’s embarrassing, but he grinds himself against me and I can tell I’m not the only one. As he moans contentedly, pulse fluttering against my lips, little jolts of pleasure shoot down my spine and straight to the place I’m going to rename “Karkat Central”. The morning express is well and truly out of the station and ready to depart, all aboard, next stop Fuck City. All of my coherent thoughts disappear in a swirling haze as he tugs at my boxers, mouth moving sensuously across my chest as he pulls them down with him. I push the cover back so I can look at him, and the cheeky little look on his face tells me he’s going to make me beg for it.

“Are you sure….hmph…uh…”

Yep. He’s definitely sure. Sure as sure could be and then a whole heap more than that and oh god oh god he’s fucking _good_ at it too. Just when he’s got me completely incoherent, he stops, looking up at me with those heavy-lidded fuck-me eyes. Fuck. He’s so goddamn hot it’s killing me.

“What do you want, Dave? I can’t tell under all of those grunting noises. Normally you don’t fucking shut up.” He grins, feathering his tongue against me just enough to turn me to jelly.

I groan, thrusting toward him to get him to touch me again. This isn’t fair, I can barely think, let alone speak. Whatever comes out of my mouth is going to be stupid and vulnerable and so goddamn uncool.

“God fucking dammit…Karkat…fucking… _love you_ …you _bastard_ …”

His eyebrows skyrocket, but I only have a second or so to figure out what the fuck I just said before he’s crushing the frustrated heat in my stomach with his mouth and tongue. Wrapping his fingers around me, it takes a shamefully scant few minutes before I’m holding back from thrusting into him. The delicious little noises he makes, humming and purring in the back of his throat as he works me over are the last straw. The heat in my stomach releases with a gasping moan from my lips, and for a few seconds I can’t breathe as fireworks explode behind the darkness of my eyelids.

“Mmmpgh…fuck…oh my God. Karkat, kitkat, karkitty, I dub thee the king of sucking cock, the duke of dick, the messiah of making me come, the saviour of sexytimes…”

He snorts, lounging on the pillow next to me. “You might even say that you “love me”? What the fuck, Strider? Seriously, did I give you brain damage or something?”

Shit, I did say that. Where the hell did that come from? Shame floods me from somewhere in the pit of my stomach, lessened slightly by the fact that he’s still here, looking at me with amusement in his eyes.

“Well, yeah, probably. To the brain damage, I mean. I’m going to need you to look in my ear and check it’s still in there. But I dunno, dude. You can’t hold a guy's mid-fellatio ramblings against him. I barely knew what fucking planet I was on.”

Gazing hazily at Karkat, he’s as smug as the cat that got the fucking cream. He’s got one over on me, and I can tell he’s loving it.

“Your abandonment issues are showing, Strider. Looks like you’re putty for anyone who shows your genitals some affection.”

I stretch out, realizing he’s not going anywhere despite my verbal incontinence. He doesn’t seem to have been scared off, so I may as well tell him the truth.

“Not anyone, dude. Just you. Can’t say I’ve ever let the “L” word slip during sex before.” Or ever, I remind myself. Never in a romantic context, anyway. What the fuck is wrong with me this morning?

His lip curls into a self-satisfied smirk, the mocking look he’s giving me letting me know he thinks this is all fucking hilarious. Goddamn it, his head’s going to be too big to fit out of the door by the time I’ve finished.

“Take the goddamn compliment, Vantas. It won’t happen again, OK? You just caught me off guard.” With your mouth and your tongue and oh my god those fucking noises.

“Whatever, Strider. As of now, you’re totally my bitch forever.”

I give his crotch a little squeeze, smiling as I feel him respond to my touch.

“Big words for someone who still needs his bulge licking.”

Fuck, Karkat must have sprained my dirty talk muscles, because that is the weirdest thing I’ve ever said in bed. Bizarrely, it actually seems to be working, because he throws himself at me with gusto. It could also be the fact that I’ve been gently rubbing him through his borrowed boxers. I’m not exactly on top form, but it doesn’t take long to get Karkat moaning and growling and begging. Naturally, I don’t let him have what he wants until he asks very, very nicely. His bitch, indeed. As if.

My phone drags me out of the post-Karkat afterglow, buzzing away merrily on the side-table. I want to ignore it, but it keeps on going. Groaning, I grab it, before returning to the warmth of the boyfriend-zone.

tentacleTherapist[TT] began pestering turntechGodhead[TG]

TT: Hello David.

TT: If you are there, I would appreciate it if you could respond.

TT: We need to meet soon, there are matters we need to discuss.

TG: okay cool i can introduce you to karkat

TT: Karkat?

TG: my hottie remember

TG: aka boyfriend

TT: Oh, yes. The target of your ill-advised infatuation.

TT: I take it your approach to relationships has resumed it's normal frenetic pace.

TG: hey

TG: grumpy much

TG: but target acquired if you know what i mean

TG: slam dunk for strider

TT: Very good, David. Well done.

TT: Have you paid any attention to the news recently?

TG: uh no

TG: been kinda busy

TT: Of course you have.

TT: Everything important is obviously all about you, after all.

TG: wtf rose

TG: why the attitude

TG: have i done something wrong

TT: No.

TT: Not as such.

TT: Just have a look at the news, David. Any of the websites will do.

TT: Then let me know when we can meet.

TG: ok rose

TG: ill let you know

TT: I’m sorry for being short with you.

TT: I’m glad your relationship is going well.

TT: You deserve some happiness for once.

TG: thanks i guess

TG: brb

Closing down the window, I open up CNN.com. Whatever Rose is worried about, I might as well get the full-blown “we’re all going to die” version. The top news story is about the Condesce visiting Fiji for a spa-break, so I doubt that’s what’s got Rose’s pants in a bunch. The second one down is the one that knocks my fucking socks off.

“SUPREME COURT JUSTICE GUY FIERI ELECTED HIGH CHAPLAIN OF INTERSTELLAR WAR”

Shit. That doesn’t sound good.

TG: rose who are we at interstellar war with

TG: and also why the fuck is fieri a supreme court justice

TG: not to mention high chaplain of what the fuck

TT: We are not at war.

TT: Other than the Condesce, I know of no other alien species for us to be at war with.

TT: Fieri is a puppet, nothing more than a pawn.

TT: His election to Supreme Court Justice was several months ago, but it does not surprise me that it passed you by.

TG: shit i need to pay more attention

TT: Indeed. This election grants Fieri the most powerful office below the Batterwitch herself.

TT: Her plan has been set in motion.

TG: plan

TG: plan to do what

TT: To finish off the Human race once and for all.

TG: shit

TG: fuck

TT: Eloquent as ever, David.

TT: There is something else.

TT: Something I need to talk to you about in person.

TG: ok sounds serious

TT: Yes.

TT: It is.

TT: I can’t see any more.

TG: what

TG: fuck have you gone blind

TG: rose are you ok

TT: I haven’t gone blind.

TT: I was referring to my second sight.

TT: Beyond eight months in the future, I can no longer see what will happen.

TT: It's the first time since I was small that my sight has failed me.

TG: what

TG: sorry im not sounding too smart here am i

TG: what the fuck

TG: thats better

TG: wait i thought you saw the kids hundreds of years in the future

TT: I did, but that was different.

TT: That has all somehow already happened.

TT: It's difficult to explain. Thinking about it too much causes migraines, even for me.

TG: no shit

TG: ok fine we need to meet up

TG: because i have no clue what any of this means

TT: I don’t either, Dave. The most obvious conclusion is that the blackout is caused by my death.

TT: I’m…afraid.

TG: fuck

TG: itll be ok

TG: or if it wont then well at least be together

TG: i promise

TT: Thank you, Dave.

TG: no probs rose

TG: are you coming to nyc or should i come to you

TT: Come to Rainbow Falls.

TT: It will be safer that way. You can bring Karkat if you like.

TT: His name is oddly familiar, and I believe that he is trustworthy.

TT: For some reason I no longer suspect him of ulterior motives.

TG: ok ill ask

TG: he might not want to

TG: its kind of soon

TT: I suspect neither of us has long left, Dave.

TT: Make the most of it.

TG: ominous

TG: ill let you know when im heading up

TT: See you soon.

tentacleTherapist[TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG]

Karkat is looking at me curiously, his eyebrows almost meeting beneath the tangled mop of his fringe. I guess I was rudely tapping away there for a while. This is going to take a lot of explaining.


	19. What horrible shit do you need to tell me?

I hate to kill the mood, to bring us both down from the high of this new relationship. Having finally found him, however stupid that thought is, I can’t lose him again. But I also can’t go around hiding shit from him. Last night’s events are an excellent demonstration of what can go wrong when you don’t clue people in. If Rose is right and the shit is about to hit the fan, I won’t be able to protect him if he doesn’t know what the fuck’s going on.

“Karkat, you know you told me a bunch of stuff last night, like explanation stuff?”

He groans, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes with both hands.

“What, Strider? What horrible shit do you need to tell me?”

Karkat’s tone is flippant, but there’s real fear underneath.

“Calm down, Kitkat. Nothing horrible, OK? Just weird, unbelievable, crazy stuff.”

I snuggle a little closer to him, because talking about all of this crap makes me feel terrible.

“Look, I’ll start at the beginning. When I was a sweet little orphan, rapping about the sun coming out tomorrow, which is dumb because it’s sunny like every day in Texas, I met another little orphan called Rose. We met at this big nation-wide orphan pity party, and we were like, daaaamn we should be best bros forever. It was platonic love at first sight. Well, for her it was. I thought she was smokin hot, like, my little twelve year-old heart could barely take it.”

“Strider, are you actually going anywhere with this, or are you just trying obliquely to tell me you were straight all along? Because you suck dick suspiciously well for a straight guy.”

I poke him in the ribs, before continuing with my story.

“You don’t need to tell me, Karkat. I’ve won several prestigious awards. Anyway, Rose and I were little cross-country chat-friends all through our dorky adolescences, and it turns out she’s some kind of psychic. She used to guess stuff from the other side of the country, stuff there was no way she could have known. What playing card I had in my hand, that kind of shit. She’s the real deal, dude.”

He pushes away from me, staring at me as if I’m crazy.

“You have to be shitting me.”

“Nope.” I reply, nudging back up against him. “She is. I swear to god. Anyway, I grew up to be a handsome film director, and she grew up to be a famous author. Rose Lalonde, she wrote all of those incredibly dense books about wizards and shit.”

Karkat’s eyes are wide, now, so I guess he’s heard of Rose.

“You’re friends with Rose Lalonde. And you think she has psychic powers.” His tone is totally deadpan.

“Yeah, dude. I can get her to explain it to you in person if you like. Anyway, Rose started having all of these freaky visions, stuff about the Condesce and the future of humanity. She knew about the Batterwitch months before the re-branding. Basically, the upshot is that humanity is more boned than a ten-dollar hooker. She just messaged me, look, I’ll show you. Apparently our species now has a use-by date. Or she does, or we both do. Eight months.”

He looks at me incredulously again, so I hand him my phone. Karkat studies the conversation we’ve just had, eyebrows raising a little at the parts that mention him. He looks like he’s having a hard time with all of this crap and I can’t say I blame him.

“Look, Strider, this is hands down the most insane load of shithive horseshit I have ever heard. But If Guy Fieri is suddenly the lord high ass-whooper of the Condesce’s empire, it sounds like we might all be genuinely fucked. And, uh, there’s something else. Something I wasn’t really intending to talk about.”

I’m impressed with his composure in the face of my bullshit-tornado of an explanation, but there’s conflict brewing below the surface of his calm demeanour. He clears his throat, looking intently at the bed covers. 

“Dave, do you ever have weird dreams? I don’t mean the normal recurring shamegasms where you forgot to hand in your homework and you have to dance naked in front of the class as a punishment.”

What the fuck, Karkat? I grin at him. Sounds like he has some unresolved issues with authority.

“I…I have dreams sometimes, mostly about shouting at the same bunch of raging fucktards over and over again. I used to dismiss them as repressed rage because nobody ever fucking listens to me, and my therapist jumped onto that like it was the last piece of floating debris from my shattered psyche. Even though everyone’s always a teenager for some reason, the same idiots have been haunting me for my entire life. But when you showed me that picture of you as a kid at the karate tournament… I think one of them was you.”

"Kendo, Karkat. Not karate." I raise my eyebrows at him, not sure what to make of his dream-confession, before remembering the dream I had last night. The Karkat in bed with me had seemed the same, but how would I even know? He’s so short and slight I’d be willing to bet he hasn’t changed much physically since he was a teenager.

“Yeah, OK, so you had a dream about yelling at me. Doesn’t seem so far-fetched, dude, you like yelling at me.”

“Not _a_ dream, you ass. _Dreams_. For fucking years, ever since I was a goddamn teenager myself. And some of them were a little less…PG 13…if you know what I mean.”

Karkat’s face is being consumed by the fires of embarrassment. I’m honestly not sure what to make of the idea that he’s been having sexy dreams about a teenage version of me for years. It’s kinda hot, but mostly kinda creepy.

“Uh, OK? So you had a subconscious crush on me, not a big deal, dude. Lots of people find themselves afflicted with the curse of Strider-lust. There are specialist clinics, man.”

I earn a shoulder-barge for that, knocking me sideways into the pillows.

“Shut up, you arrogant prick. I’m not talking romantic dreams with flowers and making passionate love under the goddamn starlight.”

Typical, the inside of Karkat’s head _would_ be just like a romance novel.

“These are more like memories, all the bad shit as well as the nice stuff. Explain to me why the fuck I would fantasize about losing my virginity to you in a pile of bike-horns? It was the most mortifying dream I ever fucking had, metal edges digging into my back and all the goddamned honking making me want to throw up all over you. You were terrible, by the way.”

Shit. That is so incredibly, weirdly specific. The fact that it tugs a little at back of my brain somehow makes it worse, there is no way something so strange should sound so familiar. Karkat’s questioning stare isn’t helping, either. Something surfaces from a dark crevice inside my mind and falls out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“Uh, were you wearing a dress, dude? Like a red, sparkly dress?”

His face turns a fluorescent shade of scarlet, matching his face in the brief flash of memory of a low-cut dress on an enraged Karkat. Damn, his mortified silence obviously means yes. My head feels like it’s going to split open as images of clumsily honking my way through my first sexual experience superimpose themselves over the night I spent in the back of the Stridermobile. Two lives, two sets of memories trying to occupy the same space. What the hell is going on? Another painful jolt of memory or vision assaults my brain.

“You lost a bet, didn’t you? I remember making a bet about something. And you had to wear the dress, and goddamn you looked hot in it. Like a skinny, awkward, furious little Jessica Rabbit. Adorable as fuck. No way I wasn’t going to jump you, dude.”

Thinking about this hurts, kind of, but it’s still an attractive prospect. “Dude, let’s go dress shopping today, seriously, I can get you the nicest fucking dress, Karkat. Whatever you want, man. You are going to look ravishing.”

He growls at me, giving me a smack on my thigh.

“Strider, keep it in your fucking pants for once in your life! This is serious! We have memories that aren’t ours, but they’re of us, doesn’t that strike you as fucking weird?

He’s shaking a little, his hands kneading angrily at his scalp. I gently remove one of them, worried he’s going to start pulling his hair out.

“Karkat, calm down. Please. We can sort this out, I dunno how, but we can. Rose might know something, she can usually untangle mysterious bullshit like a spooky little autistic kid.”

Lifting his chin so I can look into his eyes, I try to calm the anxiety behind them.

“Besides, if you want me to keep it in my pants, maybe you shouldn’t take them off with your teeth.”

He snickers at that, his shoulders relaxing as he remembers where he is; In bed with someone who cares about him, maybe the only person who actually understands. I recall he was presumably trying to make some sort of point before we took a turn down paradox-memory lane, so I ask him what it was.

“Oh, thanks for the timely reminder. A shame you couldn't have fucking prompted me before we had to get into that crap about dresses. I think Lalonde might have been one of the other morons in my dreams. She has the same complexion as you, right? Blonde, freckly, so bookish and pale she looks like she’d spontaneously combust if she was exposed to sunlight?”

“Yeah, that’s definitely Rose.” I take a deep breath, hoping I’m not going to scare him the fuck off with my next suggestion, “Would it be weird if I asked you to come with me to visit her? She might be able to help us with this, and I’m honestly kinda worried about her. She gets super dark sometimes. I know it’s way too soon to go away together or whatever but she’s got a bazillon guest-rooms so it doesn’t have to be like a couple-y trip. I’m not trying to lure you off into the wilderness, I promise.”

It’s a lot to ask, and I know how stupid and potentially creepy I’m being. His face isn’t giving anything away, and the tension of waiting for a reply is unbearable. After an age, he looks at me with trusting eyes.

“Sure. Fuck it. I could do with a fucking holiday, let’s go nuts. No point in being with someone so insanely rich they could use hundred-dollar bills as toilet paper if you don’t let them jet you off somewhere in the lap of luxury now and again.”

Bursting his bubble of private jets and champagne is extremely enjoyable. The trip upstate will require a car, and a text from Christian tells me that the new Stridermobile is parked outside, keys waiting in my downstairs mailbox. Reluctantly, I prod Karkat until he gets up, enticing him to join me in the shower after a little cajoling. There’s plenty of room for two under the waterfall, and neither of us minds sharing.

The look on his face when he sees the new car is the best thing ever. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone’s face lose the fight against trying to display anger, disgust, horror and loathing all at once. On a normal person those would probably be indistinguishable, but Karkat’s face is a seasoned expert at conveying the full rainbow of hatred. My heart will cherish the little twitch under his left eye forever.

“What the ever-loving motherfuck, Strider. Is that a car, or a fucking go-kart?”

“Oh, Karkat, you beautiful philistine. That is a 1992 Mini Cooper in Cherry Red. It’s perfect I and love it and we’re gonna be best friends forever. C’mon, I’ll take you home so you can grab your stuff and arrange a sitter for Sollux.”

His grumbles provide a wonderful soundtrack as we purr uptown, the little engine surprisingly nippy in a car as light as this. Driving around the City is indeed like driving a dumb little go-kart, complete with Karkat screaming and flailing at me as I take the corners way too fast. The suspension is a pile of crap, though, and I only take one pot-hole at full speed before deciding I like the feeling of an unbruised ass more than I enjoy driving like a maniac. When we get out at his apartment building, he grabs a fistful of my shirt and makes me promise on pain of my sensitive areas being burned with cigarettes while he spits into the wounds that I will drive like a normal person on the freeway. I just can’t say no to Karkat when he asks nicely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my friends used to drive a Mini. He was so tall he used to knock the indicator on with his knee if he cornered too fast.  
> Driving it on the motorway was fucking terrifying.


	20. Road trip confession theater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of the hits, subscribes, comments and kudos. It'm really enjoying writing this one.
> 
> I think I'm gonna switch to longer chapters less often, twice a week. Otherwise this thing might get loooooong.

Karkat spends over fifteen minutes arguing loudly with Sollux over whether he should go away with me. Or rather, Sollux spends the entire time telling Karkat he’s being a fucking idiot. I sit, sipping the bad coffee Feferi made for me and trying not to be weirded-out by her grinning, unblinking stare. I smile at her, noting the way that her cheeks flush as I do so. She’s cute and obviously painfully into me, and if I wasn’t suddenly in a committed relationship with my potential soulmate, I’d be tempted to take her like the easy target she is. Faced with attractive young things, I don’t have the best record of being a good person. Or a nice person. Or a person with any morals whatsoever.

Squirming slightly under the heat of her gaze, I listen to the sound of the argument simmering-down. Karkat’s shoulders are slumped in what I hope isn’t defeat when he walks in, Sollux stalking after him with his arms folded. He looks like he wants to stab me with the nearest blunt, rusty object.

“Fine, Strider. Take him upstate for your disgusting wilderness sexpedition. But when you’re bored of playing with your new toy, I’ll be the one who has to put him back together.”

Right. Enough. I have had enough of this shit from someone who knows absolutely nothing about me.

“Look, Sollux, give me a fucking break! I haven’t done a single thing to hurt Karkat, so shut your sarlacc-pit of a mouth and let him make his own fucking decisions! I will not EVER get bored with him, OK?”

Fuck, I need to get myself under control. I was so close to yelling “I love him” to an entire room full of people, wherever the fuck that came from. I have no idea if my mouth knows something my brain doesn’t or if this is bleed-over from the memories of that strange other life, but I’m beginning to suspect that it might actually be true. Not that I’d know, of course. Whatever this feeling is, it’s completely unfamiliar.

Sollux’s scowl is looking distinctly unfriendly as he squares up to me, but Karkat plants a hand in the center of his chest. The look he gives him is equal parts love and rage.

“Shut up, Sol. Whatever you were going to say to him, shove it back down into that cracked piece of silicon you call a brain and fucking keep it there. I trust him, I like him, and you need to deal with it. This idiot is softer than a cotton-ball that’s been left out in the rain, so just stop, alright? I don’t need your protection from this one.”

He grunts, clearly not convinced, and slouches off to his room. The slam of his door shakes the wall. Karkat sighs, and I see him and Feferi exchange an exasperated look. He smiles when he looks my way, though.

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine. I’m going to pack my shit. Since it’s you, Strider, I assume you have no plans and no fucking idea how long we’re going to be gone?”

I shake my head, mildly embarrassed at how well he’s assessed me.

He rolls those big brown eyes and heads into his room. I can’t tell whether I’m supposed to follow or wait here awkwardly, but when I feel Feferi’s hand grasping mine I nearly jump out of my skin. She smiles at me and squeezes it, her cute little face tilted up toward mine.

“Sol will come around, Dave. He loves Karkat, that’s all. They’re like a pair of idiot brothers sometimes, arguing and fighting over nothing when what they really mean is that they care about each other. It’ll just take him a while to process the fact that someone else loves him too. But you’re so cute together, and I’ll work on him, I promise!”

Am I that obvious? I’ve underestimated her, and the hug she gives me isn’t the clinging embrace of a groupie but the comforting hug of a friend. She gives me her customary little wave as she follows after Sollux, but this time she’s the one who’s got me flustered because I can’t think of anything funny or clever to do in reply. I wander over to Karkat’s doorway, watching from the hall as he neatly folds black and grey clothing into a case. When he’s done, he looks at me pointedly.

“Well, are you in or out? I need to get changed out of these gross clothes of yours, so either come in and shut the door, or shut it with you on the other side of it. I don’t give a flying fuck either way.”

Naturally, I step into the room. He huffs under his breath and I wonder if I’ve made the wrong choice, but he seems to be happy getting changed so I sit down on the bed and let him get on with it. The room is tidy to a fault, sparsely decorated with photographs of friends and ordered ranks of romance novels. He’s a lot more tense than I’ve ever seen him, reminding me that, besides last night, I’ve really only seen him in a good mood. Worry settles over me like a wet, grey blanket.

“Karkat, is this OK? The trip, I mean. You can just chill here while I visit the spooky witch of the north if you want. Sollux seems pretty pissed about it.”

He wheels around toward me, furious, the effect slightly compromised by the fact that he’s only halfway into his turtleneck.

“Just fucking stop, Strider! Stop treating me like I’m a little china doll and take your own goddamn advice. I don’t need a fucking babysitter, so Sollux can eat a dick. For him, that would actually be an unpleasant experience. Stop trying to second-guess me, stop trying to protect me, and stop questioning my decisions! I don’t need a knight in shining armour to fight my battles for me, because that’s a heap of bullshit. I want someone who fucking respects me. Is that you, Dave?”

I’m taken aback by the yelling, but I manage an answer anyway.

“Yes sir, Mr.Vantas, sir. Now finish packing cause your bitchin’ new chariot awaits, and we wouldn’t want it to turn back into a pumpkin.”

\------------------

Bag packed, we head out to the car. Karkat yells goodbye to Sollux's bedroom door, and a receives a cheerful "have fun, boys!" from Feferi. There isn't a lot of room in the trunk of the car, as Karkat insists on pointing out loudly and repeatedly. His bags end up on the back seat, as the trunk is rammed solid with my hastily packed luggage. On top of the pile, very illegally concealed inside a squash-racket case, is a pair of razor-sharp Wakizashi swords and a blunt training blade from my collection.

They're small blades, but perfect for one-handed wielding. I try not to think about why I might need to use them. I'm not leaving Karkat unable to defend himself if Crocker's minions come for me, but I doubt he'll be too enthused about learning how to use a weapon.

The car is a delight, even though it's older than the last Stridermobile and will probably be a pain in the ass for my staff to source parts for. Karkat is much less impressed than I am, and counters my excited babbling (look at that fucking wood Karkat there's actual dead tree in my car) with his usual sunny disposition (this thing is so fucking tiny you're basically driving it from the back seat, you look like a clown that lost the rest of the circus-freaks).

The car isn't totally original, as far as I can tell the seats have been replaced with comfortable-yet-garish racing versions. Christian's a sly one, because there's a box of assorted cassettes in a box under Karkat's seat. I suspect they're the result of a lucky-dip into the 50-cent-bin at the flea market, but there are some wonderfully ironic choices in there. Karkat refuses to insert the self-help album (Lose Weight the Meatloaf Way: I'd do anything for weight-loss), despite my repeated pleading, and instead opts for the audio-beige of "The Best of Rock '98". As it turns out, '98 was not a particularly good year for rock music. Still, it keeps Karkat entertained as we head out of the city, into countryside that must be similar to where he grew up. As forested hills and pretty hamlets take over from concrete suburbs, I stop the tape and ask him a little more about his childhood. Even an annoyed Karkat has to be better than this music.

"So, is all this nature crap bringing back memories of Connecticut? Can't say I've ever been there, but this is what the parts of the country that aren't cities look like, right?" I've really only lived in one city or another throughout my entire life.

He makes a little disgusted clicking noise in the back of his throat, obviously unimpressed by my geographical know-how.

"In so far as there are also trees there, then yes. We moved to Cambridge when my father got the job at Harvard, so I don't remember it much. I mainly used to say I was from Connecticut just to piss him off."

We've still got some hours of driving to do, but I figure it's safe enough to ask what the deal is there. It's long enough that I'll be able to pull him back from a sulk if necessary.

"You two don't get on, huh?" I ask, cautiously.

Karkat folds his arms, hugging them against his body, and states out of the window. He answers in a practiced monotone, wary of letting any emotion slip out.

"That is the understatement of the fucking year, Strider. He's a fanatically religious prick, and he didn't take too kindly to me coming out as gay. Apparently it wasn't the correct "life-choice". It's not as if I wasn't fucking sure, what with all those dreams. Question your sexuality much, Karkat? Why, no, never! My nightly trips to dreamland mostly involve banging my mysterious dream-boyfriend over and over. Message fucking received, subconscious."

He sighs, scritching at a point in his hair above one ear. His tone is weary as he continues.

"He wanted to send me to "re-education" camp, aka straight-propaganda brainwashing-prison. So I left. I never went back. Kankri was actually surprisingly supportive, despite his lecturing about how celibacy is the only way to stay truly pure. The arrogant ass does have some good qualities, and while he'll happily judge me from atop his mile-high pedestal, he's very protective of me. Or, he used to be."

I sense that talking about his brother is too painful, the crash and burn of his life seems to have cut a flaming swathe right through the middle of Karkat's. I consider offering to help, to get Kankri out of whatever trouble he's in, but this doesn't seem like the time. I'll mention it to him later. Time to change the subject to something less depressing.

"So you had a whole bunch of those dreams, huh? Were they all as terrible as the two-man honk solo? I can't imagine Dave Junior was content to have his performance slammed. If he was me, which he totally is, I'd have wanted to practice until I was a literal fucking expert."

I grin at him, noting the smirk on his face as he stares off into the distance.

"No...the dreams got better. Although you can feel free to never utter the words "Dave Junior" ever again, because I wouldn't put it past you to refer to your dick by that name."

I notice he skipped past the juicy bit of that story way too fast for my liking.

"Dude, I'm hurt. My dick is Dave Senior because he's totally the one in charge. Plus he's got hella experience and deserves some goddamn respect from you, young man. Don't make me take off my belt and also my pants and show you who's boss. Anyway, I want details, Karkat. Its a long way to Rainbow Falls."

He snorts, delivering a predictably cutting retort.;

"Fuck you, words do not exist to quantify how much worse that is. Thank you for the mental image of your stern octogenarian cock, which has definitely killed any desire to see it again. The search for the ultimate contraceptive is over, and it was Dave Strider's mouth all along. Look, the dream thing is embarrassing and weird and I don't like thinking about it too much, OK? But yeah, a lot of them were pretty fucking great. Most of the sexy ones but also the ones where I was just...with someone. There were a lot where I...where we...were just dicking around like a pair of idiots, or watching a dumb movie. It was nice, and I felt like I was loved...or cared about, or whatever you want to call it. Sometimes, when I was really low, I used to wish I could go to sleep and never fucking wake up. I just wanted that to be my real life."

Shit, that got heavy fast. He's staring out of the window again, deliberately avoiding looking at me. My mouth tends to get away from me when I'm upset, and predictably that happens right on cue.

"Karkat, man, you know you don't have to think like that, right? I mean you fucking know I care about you, like, a lot. And I'll watch as many dumbass movies with you as you want, but don't think shit like that, please? It's gonna make me worry about you."

He laughs and pats me on the knee. I calm myself as his hand stays resting there, warm and reassuring.

"I know, Strider. I know you care about me, you've mentioned it about five fucking times today. And I care about you too, even if I'm too much of a pussy to go around dropping "L" bombs. I don't think that way any more, I haven't for a long time. And besides, for the first time in fucking forever, it feels better to be awake."

We drive in silence for a bit, Karkat's hand resting on my leg until a semi-truck passes us a little too close for comfort and he curls into the fetal position, whimpering. The car really does feel tiny on these big roads, but I'll get used to it. I don't think Karkat's ever going to be convinced, though.

\------------------

I suggest some stupid car-games, but things quickly peter out into general dude-chat. Karkat has some hobbies I find interesting, creative writing and a bit of amateur dramatics, and his College degree was in literature. That explains how he came to be working as a parking attendant, at least. He's taken aback when I admit that I didn't go to College, barely scraping my way through high-school on my sports and art grades. Unfortunately, my chosen sport was too obscure to offer scholarships, and I certainly had no money or motivation to go under my own power. He swerves so erratically between sounding envious and proud of my subsequent success I can't help laughing.

He probes a little deeper into my past, and I give out a few choice stories that I've never told anyone before. He laughs uncontrollably at my tales of my brief stint as a motorcycle courier, my 18 year old self believing I was the baddest motherfucker on the roads on my little scooter. I'd initiated (and lost) so many drag-races from the lights that I'd damaged the bike, been late to all of my deliveries, and subsequently lost my job.

Eventually he swings the conversation around to my history of promiscuity and partying, snark dripping from his words as he paints a fairly accurate picture of what it must have been like. I don't like him thinking of me as some kind of dumb party-boy, and before I know it my mouth does something I regret.

"Dude, it wasn't all braindead starlets and orgies, believe it or not I have actually managed to have a real relationship before. I know you think I'm as shallow as a fucking puddle, but I am actually capable of being a mature adult. For given values of "adult", at least."

He looks unconvinced, and invites me to give him my definition of "mature" and "relationship". I can't seem to keep my goddamn mouth shut, and he gets a front-row seat to the excruciating details of my experiences with Terezi. He stays silent through it all, and my stomach clenches with the fear that my over-sharing has scared him right the fuck off. Finally, when I mercifully manage bite down before I let slip about the drinking problems of her aftermath, he puts a hand on my knee again.

"I'm weirdly impressed, Dave. I mean, it was a fucking car-crash and it sounds you were a total douchelord for a lot of it, but it does seem like it was a real relationship. I guess you aren't completely the overgrown man-child I initially assumed. There's hope for you yet."

Warmth floods through me as I catch the implication behind his words, and I spend the rest of the drive contemplating a future with Karkat. The hope that he's feeling something for me makes my stomach lurch, I want so much to spend whatever time I have left with him. This angry, almost-stranger who I've somehow been in love with for my entire life. My missing piece.


	21. The drunk Rose district

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from the wonderful tumblr blog of Ikimaru - if you haven't checked it out, then go do that. This stuff isn't going anywhere, Dave is happy to wait while you admire all the pretty.
> 
> This is the first new-style big chapter, next one will be on Monday.  
> No apologies for the shameless, shameless fluff. :)

The little car gets us to Rose's house safe and sound, the last few miles on the private road reminding me just how isolated she is. I can tell Karkat is expecting to see some sort of turret-encrusted sepulchre of a house, given Rose's reputation for baroque prose. The reality, a sleek, modernist masterpiece, complete with hydro-electric power from its own internal waterfall, comes as a shock to most people. If I didn't know she'd inherited the place from the caring older couple who fostered her, I wouldn't believe she lived here either. The two had been architcts, and the house had been their swan-song.

Karkat frowns at me when I barge my way in through the front door, but Rose and I are way beyond knocking to be let in. I dump my shoes in the porch, directing Karkat to do likewise so as not to ruin the wall-to-wall white carpeting. The 70's were not a time renowned for practicality, but for a house in the middle of a forest it's always struck me as a stupid choice. I call out a few times as we wander through into the cavernous living room, but the reason for the lack of reply soon becomes obvious. Rose is slumped on one of the gigantic couches, an empty martini glass lying carelessly at her feet. My oldest, dearest friend is completely fucking wasted.

“Shit,” I exclaim, sprinting across the expanse of white. I shake her shoulder, gently, and then with more force when she doesn’t wake up. I’m about to call 911 when her eyelids flutter, and she fixes unfocused violet eyes on my face.

“Davey is that you?” She grins, leaning closer to my face so she can examine me. I recoil; her breath smells like something threw up in her mouth. I suspect it was probably her. Her eyebrows furrow, cogs whirring in her brain as she tries to form a sentence.

“Daaveeey it is you! You came all…all this way to see meeeee! I sorta started the party without you…but there’s lotsa booze left!”

No there isn't. It looks like she's emptied the liquor cabinet pretty thoroughly. Looking at her eyes, I can tell she’s very, very drunk. I’ve never seen her this bad, even when I’d bussed to the other side of the country to visit her in her college dorm. There’s usually a beautiful, elegant reason for that.

“Rose,” I say, calmly lifting her chin so she stops groping around for the empty bottle that’s lying on the floor. “Where’s Kanaya?”

Her face screws up, and for a second I think she’s going to burst into tears. I feel sick with worry, wondering if they’ve broken up or if something terrible has happened to her. It turns into a confused expression, and I realize Rose might not remember where Kanaya is. She’s clearly been drinking to forget, after all.

“Shesh…shes not here. S’in Indiananana”

It’s my turn to frown. “She’s in Indiana?”

Rose waves an arm at me, almost slapping me in the face with her overenthusiastic flailing.

“Nonononono Davey…th'other one. Hot. L’phants”

“India?” She nods. Not exactly the Da Vinci Code.

Well, that’s less worrying, at least. Kanaya has obviously decided to stay with her family a little while longer. It doesn’t explain why Rose is getting smashed at four in the afternoon, though. My musing is interrupted by Rose tugging at my shirt.

“Dave m’gonna b’sick,” Her eyes track lazily up to Karkat’s horrified face “Whozis? Z’cute.”

Time to get her to a bathroom. I ask Karkat to get me a glass of water from the kitchen, and insert myself under one armpit.

“C’mon Rosie, time to go pay homage to the not-so-fresh prince of porcelain.”

I half-drag half-carry her to the bathroom, and hold back her hair as she hurls a multicoloured waterfall that matches the name of her home. I would guess that cocktails have been on the menu. Karkat has no trouble locating us by the sound of coughing, spluttering and terrible singing coming from Rose. She’s obviously feeling a bit better when he walks in, and greets him loudly.

“Heeeeeeeey cutie! Where’d you come from? You shoulda got here earlier.”

She winks at him, grinning deliriously, and I can’t stifle a matching grin as I see him turn bright red.

“This is Karkat, Rose. He’s my newly appointed cock-pleaser.”

He almost dumps the water over my head, but settles for putting it down and punching me hard on the shoulder. I rub it until I can feel my arm again, trying to calm the rage in his eyes.

“Dude, relax! If she’s drunk enough to hit on a guy, there’s no way she’ll remember any of this.”

He still looks pissed, and sits down on the floor, grasping Rose’s lolling face with both hands.

“Rose, it’s nice to meet you, now drink your water. Your friend Davey is the sluttiest little man-whore to ever walk the earth, and he’s also a terrible liar. He’s my willing fuck-slave and he knows it.”

I laugh, Rose spluttering a little on her water. I’m less amused when she puts it down and enthusiastically agrees with him.

“Inorite? He’s always been so needy in the sack. Poor little Davey just wants to be loved and fucked and cuddled. S'pecially fucked. You c’n do that, right Karkat?”

Okay, this is getting too much now; the Dave Strider Gossip Hour is over.

The matching smirks on their faces are making me feel like I want to vomit, so I hoist Rose up and lead her to the master bedroom. Karkat trails after us, positioning himself so that he can catch her if she trips. She keeps on babbling as we go, her filter completely out of the fucking window, down the fucking river, and out to sea where it's been eaten by a giant fucking squid.

“Kittykat you know Davey’s been sayin’ he’s not gay for soooooooo long but I know he is, I’ve always known y’know.”

I sigh, her progress is nowhere near quick enough for me.

“Do tell, Rose.” Karkat is fucking loving this, the smug little son-of-a-bitch.

“Rose, I’ve dated plenty of women, so stop being bi-phobic and get your ass up these fucking stairs.”

She giggles, struggling to get one foot in front of the other.

“No no no I know that Davey, but you talk in y’r sleep. When you used to come sleep over in your cute lil’ jimmy-jams you used to mumble all night long. S’really hard to sleep, but s’really funny hearin you beggin for someone to give it to your sweet lil’ ass.”

Oh my fucking god, what the actual fuck? My glowing face is probably visible from the neighboring houses, all of which are on the other side of miles of dense forest.

Karkat is snickering under his breath, clearly finding this the funniest fucking thing he's ever heard. He keeps indulging her as we steer her toward her gigantic bed.

"So, Rose, anything else I need to know about sweet little Davey?"

She nearly topples over from excitement, seemingly bursting at the seams with gossip.

"Oh em gee Kitty, you have no idea." And he's not going to, either.

Unceremoniously, I dump her face-first onto the bed, muffling her slurring voice into an unintelligible mumble. She falls silent after a few seconds, and when I roll her onto her back, she begins snoring like a fucking lumberjack. Karkat places the glass of water on her bedside table, and I pull him out of the room before he’s tempted to wake Rose. Hopefully the next time she emerges from the room she’ll be so hung-over she’ll be pleading for silence. I don’t know if I can take any more of the smugness radiating from Karkat, but I know one way to wipe the smile off his face. Before he can say anything, I push him hard against the wall next to Rose’s bedroom door, and attack his mouth with mine. He’s not so talkative with my tongue down his throat, but it turns out to be a temporary solution. I guess I should have thought of that, but it was good while it lasted.

\---------------------

“So, “Davey”, Karkat smirks, the kiss leaving a dusting of pink on his cheeks, "It sounds like I wasn’t the only one having R-rated trips to the dream theater. Recall any details?”

I rub at my temples, sarcastically miming the act of remembering.

“Hmmm, there are two words coming very clearly to the front of my mind: “Fuck” and “You.” Those mean anything to ya?”

He sticks his tongue out when I flip him off, and I realize I’m picking up his goddamn mannerisms.

“That sounds about right, from what I remember." Karkat smirks at me some more, enjoying my discomfort. "And the reverse, of course. Those dreams were always my personal favourites.”

He's obviously decided I've had enough needling, because grabs my hand and changes the subject.

“Your friend has drinking a problem the size of your home-state, I don't think I've ever seen an actual adult as completely fucking trashed. Any idea why the fuck she’s been sitting home alone pickling her internal organs?”

Sighing, I remind him of what the message she sent earlier had said.

“She’s freaking out, I would be too if I’d seen my own death in my crystal ball or crystal wineglass or whatever the hell she uses. Also, you know, the inevitable end of human civilization at the hands of a blinged-up alien bitch-queen. That shit will fuck you up, Karkat.” 

He hums in agreement, squeezing my hand a little. We decide to let her sleep off the effects of her binge in peace, heading downstairs to the figurine-cluttered living area. Without a drunken socialite focusing his attention, Karkat is able to take in the magnificence of Rose’s collection.

“Holy shit, Strider. That is a truly worrying amount of wizards. She must be singlehandedly keeping all of the children of Taiwan in slave labour and rags, because this is Michael Jackson levels of gaudy horseshit.”

I'm used to them, but the wizards do seem to have multiplied since I was last here. She seems to have gone a bit overboard, and I'm surprised Kanaya puts up with it. I don't particularly want to rattle around in this empty mausoleum of a house, the traces of the same crockertech outfitting my Houston apartment are too painful. This is usually a vibrant, family place. Right now, Kan should be making coffee, fussing over Karkat and critiquing the ludicrous suit I put on especially for this visit. I brought some old records up from the City, the classical music that both ladies enjoy, and I should be improvising raps over the top while twirling Rose around in a stupid out-of-time waltz. I miss them both as if a raw wound has opened in my chest. With Kan gone and Rose unconscious, this place feels more like a tomb than a home. 

I need to get out, so I ask Karkat if he wants to go for a short hike. The hills around the house are crisscrossed with trails that Rose and I used to wander as teens, in the summers when her foster parents would fly me up from Texas for a couple of weeks. The first few times, I'd hoped against hope that I'd be coming here for good, and had spent the flight home crying angry, silent tears. But it was kind of the Lalondes to take pity on me, the scrawny idiot who was their teenage daughter's best friend.

Karkat looks at me skeptically, one eyebrow disappearing up under his bangs. "You "hike", Dave? In those clothes? You look like you haven't seen sunlight this side of the millennium, so forgive me if I call bullshit on your wilderness skills."

He's got a point, but I've got more up my colorful sleeves than meets the eye. Retrieving the stuff I brought from the car, I put together a bag to take with us, and get changed into bright red board shorts and a tee that I know I look good in. Karkat's about to get a dose of holiday Dave, and holiday Dave doesn't fuck around when it comes to hiking.

\---------------------

Hefting the rucksack over one shoulder, I lead Karkat out and into the peace and quiet of the woods. He raises an eyebrow at the fact I’ve got a sword strapped to my belt, but it’s really only for cutting back any overgrown vegetation. Following the rushing sounds of the river upstream, I bask in the relaxation on his face as we pick our way between the roots, the lifelines of pines and conifers mixed in with older, shorter trees. The light is soft beneath the leaves, shadow and light mixing in a kaleidoscope of greens. I needn’t have brought the weapon, someone’s been keeping the path fastidiously clear, and I suspect Kanaya has been up here with her chainsaw recently. She has a very straightforward approach to gardening.

The smell of the forest summons a host of memories of chasing a giggling Rose along these tunnels of trees, caught in the adolescent no-man’s-land between childhood and adulthood. I’d been in love with her, or thought I had been, but I'd never dared to do more than hold her hand for fear of losing my only real friend. Her lack of romantic interest in me had been obvious, anyway. She treated me as a dorky brother, so I had stepped up to the role and tried my hardest not to get a boner at an inopportune moment. I'd failed, often, but she was kind enough not to point it out. Our destination today is one of the places where it'd been downright impossible.

We walk most of the way in silence, Karkat letting go of my hand where the uneven ground necessitates walking single-file. My chest fills with warmth when he catches it again as soon as we can walk side-by-side. It doesn't take long to reach our goal, my ulterior motive for suggesting the walk becoming obvious. At the bottom of a short cascade is a deep pool that’s perfect for swimming, the light dancing on the surface of the water making it look extra inviting. Karkat’s face is difficult to read, but he doesn’t look impressed when I suggest a swim.

“Fancy taking the plunge with me, man? The water’s lovely, I know from experience.”

His expression is as stony as the bottom of the pool.

“Fuck no. I didn’t bring a bathing suit, for one, and I can tell that water is as cold as shit. I don’t fancy dying of hypothermia in the middle of fucking nowhere, thanks very much.”

I scoff at his totally accurate assessment of the temperature of the water, pulling my shirt off over my head. He suddenly looks a little more interested in swimming.

“Who needs bathing suits, Karkat? We got our goddamn birthday suits right here. It’s not as if there’s anyone else around.” I grin at him, slipping my shoes off and placing them carefully next to my shirt.

His face is turning a very attractive pink color; I guess Karkat isn’t as comfortable with public nudity as I am. It doesn't matter here, this is the most private spot in the entire State, but habits of a lifetime are difficult to break. Slipping off my shorts and boxers, I pull Karkat close to me and kiss him, just enough to get him shivering a little with excitement. When I’m done, I gently remove his hands from my bare ass, and take a running jump into the water.

Shit, fuck, balls, the water is as cold as a motherfucker, and it’s all I can do to keep from crying out at the shock as it hits my delicate areas. All of them are taking a cozy little holiday up inside my body, and it’s going to take a lot to coax them back out again. Karkat’s probably up to it, though. I surface, gasping for air, and grin up at him where he's standing on the bank with his arms folded.

“Nice and warm, Dave?” He asks, smirking.

“Yep...S’great,” I reply, treading water and trying desperately to get some air into my lungs. Long words or complete sentences are definitely out of the question for a while. I just about manage to keep my teeth from chattering.

He snorts, and I’m almost tempted to grab one of his ankles and pull him in. I’d like him to be a lot more naked before I do that, though, because I didn’t bring a change of clothes for either of us.

“C’mon Karkat...m'not gettin out til’ you join me.”

Karkat rolls his eyes, a gesture that telegraphs his resolve weakening. I’ve almost got him. Just a little more encouragement needed.

“Dude. You. Me. Naked. Now.” God it’s cold. So fucking cold. I’m going to take all of his body heat. All of it.

With a sigh, he pulls his turtleneck over his head, revealing smooth, light-brown skin. The blush on his face intensifies as he reluctantly removes the rest of his clothes. He's achingly shy, constantly checking over his shoulder as if a crowd of photographers is about to jump out from between the trees. I wish he'd stand up straight, he's got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Karkat winces as he dips a toe gingerly into the water, and gives me a dirty look from beneath his bangs.

“No fucking way, this is not happening. My toe just got frostbitten from sticking it in there for a single solitary second.”

Nope, not letting him get away with that. The edge of the pool is pretty sheer on this side, so I can swim right up to where he’s standing. This time I do grab his ankle and get my other arm behind his knee. I wish I had my camera to capture his face as he topples, screaming, into the water.

The “FUCK!!!” he yells out as he surfaces causes several surprised birds to take flight, and I swear I can hear it echo around the surrounding hills. I giggle like a maniac as I wrap my arms around him, narrowly avoiding a flying elbow to the nose. He struggles like a madman, swearing and snarling as I leech the heat from his body. Eventually, when he’s adjusted to the cold a little, he calms down and starts insulting me more coherently.

“Strider, you are the lowest form of life on this motherfucking rock, stupider than the dumbest bacterium sitting in the idiot corner of the festering colon of a dead hippopotamus! I hate you so fucking much! If you weren’t marginally warmer than this fucking water, I’d be holding you under until the last bubble of air was forced from your burning lungs, and then I’d fucking hold you under some more!”

I laugh, accidentally loosening my grip enough for him to wriggle free, and he makes good on his promise of trying to drown me. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to discover where he’s ticklish, and I’m back in the land of oxygen after a few seconds.

I don’t stop him from pulling himself out of the freezing water, and inform him cheerfully that there’s a blanket in the bag. He drags it out frantically, wrapping it around himself so tightly he looks like a bedraggled little cigar. I follow him out, shivering even in the warm breeze, and plead with him to let me into the fabric cocoon. It’s big enough for both of us, but he tells me to go fuck myself and plonks himself down on a patch of grass, covered from head to toe. He eventually relents when I shower him icy water from my hair. Snuggling up to his grumbling, angry little body, I steal his warmth again with a big shit-eating grin on my face.

\---------------------

Wet, grumpy Karkat eventually transforms into dry, cuddly Karkat, the summer afternoon air and the sounds of the forest lulling us both into a comfortable doze. The grass is soft and the ground is flat enough to stretch out on, so I pull him down on top of me and use him as an extra blanket. Karkat doesn't seem to mind, and sighs contentedly.

“Wanna make out, man?” I ask, lazily. Naked Karkat is not something to be squandered.

“What are you, twelve?” He replies, “You really do think with your dick, don't you? No, thanks. I’m happy like this. It’s nice. You’re nice, even if you are a jerk.”

I laugh, I guess I am a jerk. I’m glad he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Thanks, Karkat. You’re nice too, dummy. How come you’ve got a billion words for how much you hate me, but you’ve only got “nice” for the good stuff?”

He grunts, laughing. “Fuck you. I just haven’t had much practice at it. Besides, there are a few words I can think of. Funny, cute, stupid. Stuff like that.”

I squeeze him a little, ridiculously pleased to be complemented.

“Is stupid a positive in this context?” I ask, grinning.

“Of course. I could never love anyone smarter than me. I certainly don’t have to worry about that with you.”

The comfortable haze in my head must be making me feel brave, because I don't just let that statement go.

"You sayin' you love me, Karkat?"

He tenses, and I'm immediately sure I've made a mistake. When he relaxes and tightens his arms around me, I let myself breathe again.

"I'm not...not saying it."

Holy shit, I was just expecting him to tell me to shut the hell up. Swarms of butterflies start migrating from my stomach to my chest as his words sink into my brain. He fucking _loves_ me. _Karkat_ loves _me._ My brain doesn't have settings for this, so I just let my mouth drive for now.

"Me neither," I reply.

He snorts with laughter. "No shit. You already told me you love me, remember?"

I poke him in the side and kiss his forehead where it's resting on my cheek.

"Uh huh, although I plead duress on that. Or maybe undress. But I didn't need to suck you off to get _you_ to admit it."

"You must still have water in your ears," he replies, voice dripping with disdain. "Because I didn't fucking say it."

"Mmm. You will, though. I do, for the record. Love you, I mean." Why can't I get my damn words out properly? Take a deep breath, idiot, and say something coherent. "It feels like I've been looking for you for forever. I'm so fucking glad you towed my car, dude."

It's true. I do feel like that, like he's been missing all these years. I really wish I could have found him sooner, just my luck to meet my fucking...whatever, my soulmate and lover and bro all-in-one just before the apocalypse hits. Fucking shitty timing, even for me. He snorts at my stupid babbling and sighs, a happy noise I want to hear him make more often.

"Yeah. It's weird, but I love you too, Dave. God knows why. We're such a pair of fucking idiots."

It feels so good to hear him actually say it, better than I ever imagined it would. I smile into his hair, the thick strands of it getting up my nose. He's going to look like he was dragged through a hedge backwards when it's completely dry. Cute as fuck, in other words. 

"Totally. But I reckon the stupidity is split like 90-10 me to you."

He snickers a little. "I'm not arguing with you, there, Strider."

My back is aching a little from lying on the hard ground, and the sun will drop behind the hills soon, taking its warmth with it. We should probably get dressed and head back to check that Rose hasn't decided to start the party again without us. But for now, with the sunlight shining through the trees and a warm Karkat on top of me, I'm not leaving this blanket until I absolutely have to. Even though I'm still a little damp and kind of hungry, I wish this could last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F.Y.I: We all know it's not a good idea to leave friends who've been drinking heavily alone in the house, but Dave is hugely uncomfortable around Rose right now because of his own problems with alcohol. He's being selfish, but that's Dave for you. At least she puked a lot of it up.
> 
> In my mind, Rose's house looks something like the legendary Fallingwater, Frank Lloyd Wright's masterpiece. A.K.A my dream house.  
> http://www.fallingwater.org/


	22. Tick Tock, Break Heads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *ahem* points at the sadstuck and graphic violence tags. Sorry, guys.

My back starts to spasm after a while, the hard ground making its presence felt on my spinal column. Karkat frowns at me, I must have made an involuntary noise.

“Something wrong, Dave?” He asks, levering himself off me and sitting up on the blanket.

My chest is cold without his skin on mine, and I’d honestly forgotten we were both naked under it.

“My back hurts, that’s all. Could you help me up?”

He offers me a hand, pulling me up. Stretching out my vertebrae dispels most of the pain, but getting older can suck a bag of dicks because I feel about a hundred. Karkat looks amused, and I almost tell him he’ll get to know his back muscles very intimately when he gets to my age. Before I can say it, I remember that in all likelihood we'll both be dead within a year. We're as old as we're ever going to get, more or less. My stomach lurches with the unfairness of it all; I won’t get to spend even a year with him, let alone grow old by his side. I’m way past the point where I give a shit about the fact I’ve known him approximately two weeks, because I know that's bullshit. It's been half a lifetime, I just didn't know it. I want to breathe him in, every atom of him, and never stop. Eight months together isn’t enough, it’s all we’ll ever have but it sucks, and it _hurts_.

He can obviously see worry on my face, and I don’t want to upset him with this morbid bullshit. Wary of my mouth giving me away, I press it gently against his. He kisses back, softly, and it’s painful how much I need him. Not just in the sense that I want to ride him all night long, but that I’d be lost, cast adrift without him. I hate how weak I am, how easily I would fall apart if Karkat decided he’d had enough of me. His lips tell me how stupid that thought is without requiring words. Neither of us wants this to end. Eventually I let him go, and he looks at me strangely. There’s amusement in his eyes at how fucking tender and romantic I'm being all of a sudden, but concern is squatting underneath it. I smile, examining his perfect face. Goddamn. I’m in love with him so _hard_. He shivers a little in the breeze, so I reluctantly break the spell.

“We should get dressed, dude, any more nudity in the woods and I’ll never tempt you back to civilization. As much as I’d love to start a naked forest society with you, It’s kinda hard to make pop-tarts without electricity.”

He passes me my clothes, and I kiss goodbye to my afternoon of blissful skin-contact with Karkat. It’s probably a good thing, I haven’t exactly been the most responsible friend to Rose, but seeing her like that is uncomfortable for so many reasons. The sun has dipped below the treeline and the woods are suddenly chilly, so we pick up the pace. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask Karkat since he told me about his dreams, so I go for it during the short hike back to the house.

“So, you know all those dreams you had with me in them? How come you never, like, recognized me? Not to brag, but I’ve been all over the internet and T.V. for years.”

He huffs, obviously unimpressed with my arrogance.

“I don’t know, Dave, maybe because the kid in my dreams was a scrawny fifteen or sixteen year old, who didn’t dress like a complete douche all of the time? You have a similar haircut but your face is different, the only thing that’s the same are those lame-ass shades of yours. And in a lot of the dreams you weren’t even wearing those.”

He stops, and I know it’s because he’s flashing back to a dream where neither of us were wearing much. I’m sort of jealous that I don’t remember them. He looks up at my smug grin, pursing his lips into a thin line.

“Plus you’re going bald on top.” His face lights up with wicked glee when he sees the shock on my face.

“Wow, fucking low-blow, Karkat. I am not going bald, you little shit. It’s not as if you can even see the top of my head from way down there.”

Laughing, he tells me to keep telling myself that if it makes me feel better. Vanity is one of my few (many) vices and I hate the idea of losing my hair. If I have to wear a hat like a total asshole, I’m going to drive a sword through my chest. I use my phone to take a picture of the top of my head, and Karkat is off and running before I figure out that he’s been fucking with me. My hair might be messy, but all of it is still there. I catch him before we reach the house, ruffling the shit out of his hair until it’s sticking out in all different directions. He snarls, patting it down until it looks more like his signature bed-head. I guess I’m not the only vain one.

\------------------------

I call out for Rose as I barge in through the front-door, and I’m met with an icy stare and a request to quiet the fuck down. She looks terrible, sitting up too-straight on the same couch where we found her earlier. I’d expected to have to drag her out of bed, but she must have slept off the alcohol with the stamina of an experienced drinker. She weathers my awkward hug with her usual dignity, barely leaning on me at all when she gets to her feet. Even so, the practiced calm in her words can’t disguise the tremor in her hand as she extends it to Karkat in greeting. Her welcome this time is a much more genteel “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” I’m relieved she’s OK, but I’m still concerned about how she got in this state.

Karkat keeps an impressively straight face as he shakes hands with Rose, only a sideways glance in my direction and an imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth gives away the fact that he’s laughing inside. The difference between drunk and sober Rose is something to behold.

“Lovely to meet you, Rose. Your house is beautiful. Shame about all the fucking wizards.”

She bites back a laugh, but lets a smile sneak into her composed façade. The look she gives me, one eyebrow raised, is easy to translate: _I like this one_.

I know she can’t see my eyes through my shades, but my smile should be enough: _I know, right?_

It would be so easy to slip back into our childhood rapport, easy and comfortable and tempting, but we really need to address the fact she was paralytic when I got here.

“Rose, it’s really fucking lovely to see you and everything, but what’s with all the drinking? And why the fuck is Kanaya still in India? Does she know about your little one-woman pity party, because you could have died, dude.”

My voice sounds weird, strangled, and Rose looks weary and drawn. Making her feel bad about this is an almighty hypocritical dick-move on my part, because It’s not as if I haven’t done the same thing to myself over and over. Karkat excuses himself, glancing uncomfortably at me as he heads to the bathroom and out of the gathering storm. Rose sighs, long and exasperated, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“David, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. I miss Kanaya, that’s all. My visions were a little…clearer than I let on. It isn’t safe in this country, isn’t safe anywhere really, but here will be particularly bad. She…she didn’t want to stay in India, but I informed her of what will happen to me. To us. She’ll need to be with her family, I couldn’t ask her to be alone…and they need her too.” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before continuing, “Porrim’s pregnant.”

“What? How?” I don’t know what to do with that information.

Rose can’t resist the urge to snark at me, even though this isn’t the time.

“In the usual way, I would imagine. The sterilization didn’t work on her; it fails in a vanishingly small percentage of people. Her new husband is one of the others. There have been years of black-market fertility tests and sperm trading that I really don’t want to go into, but when she finally fell pregnant, she married the man who supplied the functional material.”

Twisting a lock of her pale hair absently in one hand, Rose avoids my blank stare. I’m in shock, I’d blindly assumed in my usual ignorant way that it was some kind of arranged marriage. I guess it kind of was.

“They must go into hiding before she starts to show, or Porrim and the baby will be murdered by those monsters under the Condesce’s thrall. Kanaya…she’s always wanted to be a mother. Being an aunt isn’t the same, but it’s close. It’s more than I could ever give her. Convincing her to go with them was the best option for both of us…she can help protect them, and soon there will be nothing left for her here.”

I’m at her side with an arm wrapped around her back before the first sobs shudder through her body. Rose cries without sound, only sharp rasping breaths. She cries as if she’s never going to stop. I rub her back, trying to soothe her, but I don’t know what to do against this tide of pure misery. I don’t notice Karkat emerge from the bathroom with a roll of paper, and he surprises the shit out of me when he sits down next to Rose and folds his arms around her. She accepts the hug, snuffling into the wad of tissue and breathing more easily as he shooshes her. It’s embarrassing that a complete stranger can comfort her so much better than I can. I might be her friend of over twenty years, but I’m powerless in the face of so much raw emotion.

Eventually, Rose composes herself and politely shrugs us away. Her calm is still fragile and I don’t want to set her off again, but I can’t get over the fact that Kanaya is just _gone_. That she agreed to stay in India when they’ve always been so in love, inseparable and steady and strong. For years, they’ve been the support that’s kept me going, at times even kept me from ending my own life. The idea that I might never see her again makes me feel numb, empty. It means that the whole apocalyptic shitstorm hovering over us is actually real.

\------------------------

It takes me a minute to notice Karkat is staring at me, one eyebrow raised in an expression that screams _say something you fucking idiot_. Words just sort of tumble out, my mental quality-control guys are obviously out to lunch.

“Uh Rose this is Karkat, I know I already introduced you but I didn’t, like, tell you anything about him I guess. He towed my car, I think I already mentioned that, but he’s totally awesome and he fucking hates my movies and I’m in love with him, so there’s that.”

If I needed something to cheer Rose up, the filter-less ramblings of a total idiot seem to work really fucking well. Her smirk brings a smile to my suddenly-red face, and I can almost feel her picking my brain to pieces with her spooky psychological bullshit. Goddamn it. Karkat comes to my rescue, a pained expression at my verbal idiocy on his face.

“What Dave means, but can’t articulate because he’s apparently lost his fucking mind, dignity and self-control today, is that I’m his boyfriend.”

The accompanying exasperated glare is adorable. I love you angry Karkat, you’re the best. Rose is smiling genuinely now, with a soft, sad look in her eyes. I know she’s happy for me, but I should probably steer things away from relationship-chat.

“Coffee, anyone?” I suggest. It’s been a long fucking day, all told. I need some caffiene.

Rose politely interrogates Karkat, prodding gently for information, while I fish around in the kitchen for coffee making supplies. Her machine isn’t as complex or fancy as mine, but I make do. As I’m stirring a little sugar into Rose’s drink, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance down at it, and the murmur of their conversation (in which I can hear my name being mentioned more than I would like) recedes into the background as cold water washes through my veins.

)(er Imperious Condescention [)(er IC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

)(er IC: you mine now bouy

)(er IC: thx for settin this up so easy

)(er IC: you and your little gurlfrond and your scrawny excuse for a matesprit all in one isolated place

)(er IC: thought you was smarter than that but obvs not

)(er IC: enjoy the drones

)(er IC: cos you won’t enjoy the next part

)(er IC: <3<

TG: no fuck that shit

TG: i dont want to fucking hate bang you you psycho

)(er IC: you think you won’t do what I want?

)(er IC: when I make your little matesprit scream you’ll be begging me to take you

TG: fuck you

TG: leave him out of this bitch

)(er IC: no way

)(er IC: it’s too much fuckin fun

TG: i will motherfucking kill you if you touch him

)(er IC: bring it on

)(er IC: <3<

TG: god fucking dammit

turntechGodhead [TG] blocked )(er Imperious Condescention [)(er IC]

)(er IC: bitch please

)(er IC: don’t even bother

)(er IC: sea you soon 38D

)(er Imperious Condescention [)(er IC] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

My chest tightens and suddenly there isn't enough air in the goddamn room. I'm dimly aware of the coffee cup shattering and hot liquid splashing all over my legs, but my brain is somewhere else. Karkat and Rose are staring at me, and I can't get any words out. I'm just fucking standing here like an idiot, and I need to help them warn them get them the fuck away from me right now.

"Are you OK, Dave?" Rose asks, her concerned face suddenly very close to mine. When did she get over here?

"No," I manage, squeezing the word out through my constricted throat. "She's coming for me. Crocker. We're fucked."

Karkat's eyes widen with fear, Rose's with confusion. I remember that I hadn't told her about the Condesce's threat-flirting campaign. There's no fucking time to explain it now.

"Karkat, we need to hide you, get you the fuck away from me right now. She threatened you and I'm not letting some huge bug-monster take you."

He swallows, fear transforming into terror, but he doesn't move.

"No, Dave. Fuck that. I'm not letting them take you either." His jaw is set with determination and there's no time no time they'll be here any fucking minute.

"Karkat, what the fuck is the plan, exactly!? You don't have a weapon, you wouldn't even know how to use one! Just stay out of the way, please, because I CAN'T LET THEM HURT YOU!"

I'm screaming at him and I hate it, I hate hearing my voice rip painful stripes into him. He winces with each word, but I don't have time to feel the horror of it sink into my bones before the sound of a window breaking fills my world completely.

\------------------------

The thing is huge, and the sight of it levering itself through the remains of Rose’s window sends my pulse into overdrive. Adrenaline surges as I pull the sword from my belt, feeling the years of training settle into my muscles. I'm not ready, not warmed up or stretched and shaking like a fucking leaf, but the screeching mass of plates and spikes and rage is coming for me and I have to do something. Rose has drawn a pair of needles, longer and sharper than any knitting needles I’ve ever seen, and I don’t know what her plan is but she’s squaring up to it like she’s going to tear it a new one. Glass explodes from the other windows in the room, and we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die if I don’t move right _now_.

The first strike embeds itself in blood-red carapace, a fountain of tarry liquid spraying me in the face. The thing swipes at me with a clawed fist and I barely duck out of the way fast enough not to be decapitated. Without the force of a running start my hits barely score the surface of it's serrated armor, and the angry stridulating screeches coming from it suggest I’m just pissing it the fuck off. It’s fast; I can only avoid the sweeping claws for so long before agony blooms as they rake into my side. When it leans down to skree in my face in triumph, a maw full of alien razors inches from my head, I stab with all of my strength into the gap between its neck and chest-plates. The noise it makes is deafening, sickening, and it goes down like its strings have been cut. Rose’s house is going to need a serious fucking clean if we manage to live through this.

My victory is short lived, turning reveals two drones bearing down on Rose and Karkat and for a few milliseconds I’m frozen with indecision over whether to save my best friend or my soulmate. The thing is approaching Karkat slowly, toying with him, and the panic in his eyes as he backs away clinches it. Rose has her needles, whatever good those are, and Karkat doesn’t have anything but me to protect him. I’m halfway across the room, sprinting, when the thing lunges for him and Karkat is suddenly screaming and thrashing in its grip. Everything turns red, and the world around me seems to slow to a standstill centred on his terrified face. My blade slams into it with more force than I thought I could muster, and one of the thing’s arms is gone, then the other. A final side-swipe removes it’s head, showering us with black.

Whirling around to the one attacking Rose, I’m just in time to witness a line of non-light arcing from her needles like a bruise on reality, and the thing _explodes._ My eyes ache from the sight of the crackling afterimage of aura around her, coruscating fire in a thousand shades of pain. Whatever she just did obviously took a superhuman amount of energy because she falls heavily to her knees. It was effective, impossible, but I doubt she's going to be able to do it again. It's up to me now. 

Two more drones clamber in through the jagged window-frames and I take them apart like an executioner. It’s easy, easier than it should be. They’re so slow, so lumbering and stupid and weak all of a sudden. My sword parts carapace and organs and muscle like they were butter, and the world doesn’t lose its red tinge until I’m standing panting in a sea of mutilated flesh. The house is almost silent, the only sounds coming from pieces of falling glass and my own ragged breathing. Snapping out of whatever trance I was under, I sprint for Rose and Karkat. Both of them seem to be in one piece, but I can see blood soaking through his sleeves. Reaching out to check his wounds, he's limp and unresistant. The cuts on his arms are shallow bar a couple of nasty puncture wounds, but his eyes are wide and staring and his voice comes out in a whisper.

“What the fuck _are_ you people?”


	23. Abscond with the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short update this time due to being busy...sorry.  
> Still, enjoy!

I’m relieved that Karkat isn’t freaking out, isn’t screaming or hiding or pushing me away, but this catatonic state is almost as worrying. Rose examines him carefully, checking his pupils and pulse. He’s not in shock, not in a coma; his eyes track her finger and dilate as they should. Everything seems normal bar the layer of black gunk coating all three of us and our various non-life-threatening wounds. What’s concerning is the fact that, other than a single sentence, he hasn’t said anything for over fifteen minutes. 

“Karkat, buddy? It’s me, dude. Dave. Could you maybe say something so I know you didn’t scramble your brains?” 

He blinks at me, not really focused on my face. I don’t want to leave him like this but Rose pulls me away gently. When I look at her, really look, she’s completely drained. I catch her as her knees give out, remembering that she fried a monster with her brain not so long ago and probably feels like shit. She’s not OK; she probably needs to sleep for a week. I lower her onto the couch and I’m not letting her back up until I get an explanation. 

“Rose, what the hell did you do to that drone? Since when do you have goddamn magical powers?” 

She laughs wearily, and I can appreciate the irony. She’s spent half her life writing about wizards, and now it seems like she might actually be one. 

“I’ve been in contact with entities outside of our sphere of reality, David. They’ve furnished me with some means to defend myself, and I believe they are the source of the visions I have experienced throughout my life. They were trying to contact me directly for many years, but only succeeded a few months ago.” 

This is some cult level nonsense, and not the type of crap I expect from one of the most staunchly skeptical people I’ve ever met. 

“Seriously, did a copy of the Necronomicon smack you over the head or something? You can’t possibly believe in spooky gods or eldritch beings from the un-hip dimensions.” 

Rose manages her signature look of disdain, even through her tiredness. 

“David, you saw me blow that thing to pieces. Is that not evidence enough that I am in possession of supernatural powers? They are not “Gods”, merely observers. Think of them as the “Greek Chorus” for our little tragedy, except that they are no longer content to merely lament our fate. They wish to help us. They will also assist our descendents.” 

I guess I can’t argue with her logic, the energy lancing from her needles had been an assault on the senses, an unnatural fire composed of darkness and light at the same time. It was blindingly other, alien and horrifying and definitely not meant to exist in this Universe. To say I’m concerned about her would be a huge fucking understatement. 

“Rose, are you sure this is safe? Or a good idea in any way? I mean, I know I was joking about the Necronomicon but you know everyone who ever tried shit like this in books or movies ended up as a greasy smear or a pile of suspicious powder on the floor. I ain’t sweeping your ass up, Lalonde.” 

Unsurprisingly, Rose shrugs off my concerns as baseless suspicion of things I don’t understand. She’s a grown woman, or witch, or whatever, and I’m not about to argue with her now that she’s able to destroy things with a flick of a needle. I check on Karkat, shaking his shoulder gently, and I’m rewarded with a little whimper as he finally actually looks at me. 

“Dave, what the fuck just happened?” he asks, voice quavering. 

“We just kicked drone ass, dude. They’re kind of all over everything, but they’re definitely dead.” 

He frowns, and his next line of questioning is much more characteristically Karkat. 

“Not that, moron, I’m not fucking blind. I’m talking about the fact that Lalonde used her mind-lasers to blow one to smithereens, and you’re apparently channeling Speedy-fucking-Gonzalez.” 

“What?” I reply, “I saw Lalonde fry that thing, and yeah, that was freaky as hell, but what do cartoon mice have to do with anything?” 

Karkat looks like he wants to smack me around the head, but his face softens when he realizes that I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. 

“Dave, you were zipping about all over the place like a cheetah on speed, I couldn’t even see your sword when you were slicing that last drone to bits. There’s no fucking way a human should be able to move that fast. So what the fuck are you?” 

I think that one over; it’s not every day that the person you love accuses you of not being human. I am, though. The only thing remarkable about me is my astonishing coolness factor, the thing that has allowed me to rake in a ludicrous amount of cash. Other than that, I’m a totally bog-standard devastatingly handsome millionaire. 

“I dunno, Karkat. Just a normal guy, as far as I know. Is there any chance that thing smacked you over the head hard enough to make you see crazy shit?” 

Rose chips in through the hands covering her face. 

“You’ve always been unusually fast, David. I’ve seen you fight with your wooden weapon. Most people don’t win championships after six lessons. They taught you the rules and how to hold a sword, and you took the competition to pieces like a poorly constructed metaphor. For crying out loud, you gave up competing because it was too easy.” 

I suppose I never really thought about it, preferring to believe I was the hottest shit with a sword since the Dread Pirate Roberts, but Rose is right. I got bored of handing out ass-whoopings like cheap cigars, especially when I made a couple of older teenagers cry with frustration. Suddenly it hadn’t felt so good being the best. This fight had been different, though. The first drone had seemed impossible to kill; eight feet of solid muscle encased in an iron hard carapace with speed more than equal to my own. When one had grabbed Karkat, though, my mind had gone somewhere else entirely. The rest had fallen apart under my sword like unresisting, immobile daisies. 

“Uh. OK, if you say so. I guess I’m just fast then? Whatever it was, I’ve never noticed it happening before. Could be pretty useful, though.” 

There’s no argument from either of them. Looking around the room, it’s clear the house is trashed. Black stuff stains every conceivable surface, even the ceiling, and many brave wizards have laid down their lives for the noble cause of us not being murdered by giant alien bugs. The night air billows at the curtains, sending them rustling over broken glass and emphasizing how stupid it would be to stay here. It isn’t safe, isn’t secure, and it’s a fucking mess. I seem to be the only one in any kind of condition to get our shit organised, even with the trio of slashes etched into my side. Instructing them to stay put, I grab mine and Karkat’s stuff, and shove things I think Rose will need into a suitcase. The car is going to be cramped as hell, but we all need to get out of here now.

We're out onto the highway, Rose passed out with her face buried in the pile of luggage on the back seat and Karkat squinting determinedly at the road ahead, before I realize I didn't even dress his wounds. He shrugs off my concern, countering that he's not the only one bleeding all over the fucking place. At the first rest-stop in a decent sized town, I wake Rose and send her in to fetch some gauze and dressings, and Karkat and I sneak around to the restrooms with our new supplies. There's a meth-head doing something unpleasant in the stall, which I guess is business as usual for 12.30am in the middle of bugfuck nowhere, but the light is good enough to see to the wounds. Our clothes are wrecked, but we'll be back in N.Y.C soon so I'm finding it hard to give a shit about the fact we look like extras from a z-list horror movie. What does make my gut twist with worry is the way Karkat's hands won't stop shaking as he wraps the bandages around my chest. 

I give Rose a huge kiss when we return to a car brimming with the smell of shitty fast food. I can't believe how fucking hungry I am. She clearly started without us because there are already wrappers littering the floor, and I wonder briefly if she needs to keep her psychic batteries full with fat and sugar. Then I recall that the unreal tide of energy was pulled from somewhere outside of our Universe at the behest of some meddling external force, which I sure as hell can't deal with right now. The drive keeps me occupied, but not so much that I don't glance at her every few minutes, checking for signs of that aura of otherness. 

Karkat fights against sleep the whole way home, his head finally dropping just before we reach the city proper. I'm so proud of him, this iron hard spirit inside a tiny body who's gone from freaking out over some swords to calmly bandaging the wounds left by a crazed alien insect in less than 24 hours. The fact he hasn't run, hasn't panicked, has stood his ground and stuck with me is almost more than I can bear. Guilt and gratitude and selfish love all pull me in different directions, but I know if our positions were reversed I'd be losing my fucking mind. I pulled him out of his normal life and dropped him into all of this shit like I was doing him a favour, and I hope to God I have time in what's left of my life to make it up to him. To make up even a tiny part of it. 

Prodding them both awake, I send them upstairs to the apartment, and tell Rose to go straight to bed. I hope someone's been in to change the sheets. The stuff in the car comes upstairs in a precarious heap in my arms, because I'm sure as hell not doing two trips. Karkat has already sorted out the futon, and I let him lead me around like a child as he puts us both to bed. I can't think, can't line up enough words to speak, there is only a deep bone-weariness filling my body. Lying in the dark, next to the man I love but who's life I've blown to pieces, the tears begin involuntarily. Karkat pushes himself between my shaking arms and mutters soothingly into my chest, shooshing me when I try to force out a gibberish sentence. 

"It's OK, Dave. I love you." 

His sweet words should calm me down, but they send panic spiralling through my brain instead, ripping the vestiges of my carefully constructed self-image to shreds. 

"It's not it's not OK Karkat I almost got you fucking killed or worse and I love you and I can't let anything happen to you I can't man I can't live without you again." 

He kisses my forehead, before gently wiping the tears away. 

"You're an idiot, but you're my fucking idiot so shut the hell up. I was meant to find you, dumbass. I don't have any regrets. My life pretty much sucked, and everyone in the world is equally likely to be crushed to death under Crocker's tacky-ass stripper heels, so for fuck's sake breathe properly before you pass out and stop blaming yourself for everything." 

I laugh and squeeze him hard, probably hurting both of us and definitely smearing Strider tears and mucus all over his hair. Neither of us care. I fall asleep wrapped around Karkat, wishing I never had to let go.


	24. ===> Karkat: Strategize

Everything hurts. The pain has burrowed deep into every muscle, every aching tendon. The gashes in my side are burning with a heat that I really hope isn’t infection, because getting medical treatment these days is difficult enough for wounds caused by terrestrial sources. Most people are left with no option but to pray to the gods with painted faces when they’re hurt or sick or just scared to keep on living. I could pay for treatment at the best hospitals still in existence, but the Condesce’s approach to healthcare has been somewhat “cull or cure” and I’m sure as hell not showing up at a place that can log my details and deliver my sedated body to her in the space of a few hours. My stomach clenches at the thought of being all tied up and presented to her, probably with a gigantic fucking bow somewhere demeaning. Not while I’m still breathing.

Karkat is still here, clean and fresh and eating his toast while he stares at the T.V. The news is on, the sound replaced by subtitles, and I catch a glimpse of screaming people being scooped up by a gigantic, pale tentacle. Public executions, the newsreader informs us, traitors to the Batterwitch’s glorious empire being fed to her pet. It sends another wave of nausea through me. I groan, and Karkat trains concerned eyes on me.

“About time you woke up, it’s nearly lunchtime. Lalonde has been on the phone to your people, they’re having the apartment watched twenty-four-seven from now on. Apparently there’s quite the precedent for her stepping up to save your ass.”

He’s right, there is. They’ve have had to pick me up on more than one occasion when I’ve drunk-dialled Rose from some sleazy club or other, confused by the fact that she’s hundreds of miles away. When I’m inebriated I always seem to think she’s just around the corner. Karkat’s judgy face softens as I lever myself up into a sitting position, a few agonized whimpers slipping out past my gritted teeth.

“Shit, are you OK? Let me look at those cuts…you’re still fucking bleeding, Dave.”

Fresh blood is soaking through the bandages, and the world turns white-hot for a second when Karkat pulls the gauze away. The wounds haven’t closed in the night, or if they did, I just ripped the fuckers open again when I sat up. He hisses at the sight of the bloody mess, a sharp intake of breath through his teeth. The universal signal for “oh crap, that’s not good.” I feel a little light-headed as he yells for Rose, and I wonder idly how much blood I’ve lost. Any is too much, of course, but I’m suddenly feeling like it might be a lot. I look down at the futon, which is stained with red. Yep. That’s a lot of blood. Rose turns pale at the sight of it.

I’m not going to panic. Dave Strider doesn’t panic.

“I know they’re bleedin’ more than they should, but what’re we gonna do about it?”

The worry turns me into a drawling southern idiot, like it always does. Under better circumstances, Karkat would be in stitches over it. Rose frowns as she looks into my eyes.

“We’re going to have to sew them up, Dave. They obviously won’t close on their own, and you can’t lose any more blood. It looks as if you’re running low as it is.”

I must have been bleeding all night. Whatever those ugly sons-of-bitches had on their claws, it’s keeping these wounds from healing. Shit, Karkat was wounded too. He spots my eyes flicking to his shoulders, but he smiles weakly and shows me his clean, white dressings. Rose sighs as she sits down next to me, her wide eyes betraying her concern.

“Dave, I suppose it’s too much to ask that you have a needle and thread? I can’t see you repairing your own clothes, somehow.”

She wants to get a needle into me that quickly? Shit, she really must be worried. It is quite a lot of blood. I shake my head no, I wouldn’t even know which end of a needle to shove into the fabric.

“Fine.” She says, gracefully rising to her feet again. “I’ll ask the neighbors. One of them will have something we can use.”

It’s difficult to suppress amusement at the idea of Rose going door to door entreating the neighboring hipsters: “Sorry to trouble you, but would you happen to have a needle and thread? I need to sew up my friend’s chest wounds, he was attacked by an alien, you see.” They’ll probably offer her organic cotton thread ethically sourced from the mountains of Bhutan, but I don’t think it’ll take long to find some. There are a lot of people with fashion sense too terrible for mainstream boutiques in this building. I’m probably the worst offender.

Karkat fusses over me until she gets back, making coffee and plumping pillows and generally worrying his gorgeous ass off. It’s cute as hell, but the blood loss is making me anxious too. I don’t know if I’ve already lost too much. I feel light-headed, woozy. In the end, it only takes Rose fifteen minutes to return, a spool of thread and a worryingly large bent needle in one pale hand. She boils some water and soaks the needle, sterilizing it as best she can. I might be out of it, but I can tell this is going to hurt like a bitch.

It does. The sensation of a curved needle sliding into and out of my flesh is bad, but the dragging thread pulling through me and forcing the sides of the wound to meet is almost unbearable. It’s made of sandpaper, of razor-wire; it’s a hairy, knotted rope as thick as my thumb. Karkat holds my hand the whole time, only wincing once when a particularly blood-matted thread gets caught on its agonizing journey. When it’s all done, Rose snips away the trailing threads and I pass out from relief.

I'm only out for a few seconds, Karkat is still squeezing gently on my hand and looking like he wants to throw up when I open my eyes again. Weakly, I try and make light of the situation.

“Chicks dig scars…right?”

Karkat laughs a little and Rose looks exasperated. Just as I intended.

“No David, “chicks” “dig” men who stay in one piece and don’t bleed to death.” Rose is going to sprain those air-quote fingers at this rate.

Karkat kisses my forehead, gently. “You won’t be picking up chicks, Dave. I’m not sharing with some skank who’s into mutilated idiots.”

They tell me to get some more sleep. I’d have trouble doing anything else. I catch the brief volley of concerned glances between them before I close my eyes. I hope I’m going to wake up again.

\------------------------------------

I fade in and out, drifting peacefully despite the distant pain. Each time, I can feel a warm presence next to me, murmuring softly or running gentle fingers through my hair. If I'm going to die, I think hazily, at least he's here with me.

When I finally come-to fully, it's dark. My vision is grainy and someone's been pounding nails into my skull, but I'm alive. Karkat is asleep, curled into a ball with his back toward me, but he stirs when he feels me moving. Rolling over, he starts sleepily mumbling what I assume he was saying to me when I was semi-conscious.

"S'gonna be OK Dave. Go back to sleep, you need to rest. I'll never fucking forgive you if die on me, you bastard."

I snort quietly with laughter, and it hurts like hell. The stitched wounds somehow hurt more than the open ones did. Still, I’m not lying in a pool of my own blood and I’m probably not going to die, and that feels pretty great. His breathing settles and I feel peaceful, genuine sleep calling.

\-----------------------------------

The pain is still horrible the next day, but trying to figure out what the hell we’re going to do is worse. I hide in my gigantic tub, listening to Karkat and Rose arguing. The water feels fantastic, and I slowly turn it a disgusting grey color as I sponge off drone residue. I’m so gross, and it makes me smile like a moron. It’s nice to be clean again, even if I can’t lie down properly because of my brand new stitches. I’m going to have some serious scars. The noise through the wall escalates, so I drag myself out, put on my shades and get ready to face the music.

“Are you fucking insane, Lalonde!? What makes you think these motherfuckers from outer space are even telling you the truth about all of this bullshit? Forgive me for not wanting to put my faith in aliens, because they’ve been really incredibly trustworthy so far.”

Rose is standing her ground, arms folded, but Karkat is laying into her like a vengeful demon. Shit, this isn’t her fault, and OK, maybe tapping into sinister eldritch powers wasn’t such a great idea, but it was certainly useful. I can’t take them screaming at each other on top of everything else.

“Karkat, thank you for your sage advice, but I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your opinions to yourself. I’m sure ticketing misbehaving cars offers you a great deal of expertise on the occult.”

I step in before Karkat rips her throat out.

“Stop it, both of you. Chill the fuck out and stop yelling. My head hurts like a motherfucker.”

They both have the decency to look a little embarrassed.

“Thanks, guys.” I collapse into an armchair. It’s tiring being the adult.

As calmly as I can, I explain the situation to Karkat and Rose. All of it. The bullshit with the Condesce, the once and future kids, Rose’s visions, the whole caboodle. It takes ages, Karkat’s frown deepening with each passing sentence. When I’m finally done, the wait for his reaction is unbearable. After what feels like hours, he takes a deep breath and lets me have it.

“You two are a pair of fucking morons.”

Not what I was expecting, to be honest. He doesn’t seem angry, really, just exasperated.

“I mean, you’ve got the combined resources of a small country, but all you do is sit on your asses and complain about how everything’s doomed and you’re going to die? Well, no shit, you pretentious moping assholes, we’re all fucked! But most of us can’t fucking do anything about it, can we!?”

Now he’s angry. His fists curl and uncurl as his shoulders vibrate with suppressed rage. I can see the unholy effort he’s putting into not throwing a tantrum of epic proportions, and it’s incredibly impressive.

“Look. These “visions” of Rose’s may be absolute bullshit, but if we’re humoring insane people today, then we are, in fact, screwed. But that doesn’t mean we have to just roll over and fucking take it. You’ve got all the goddamn resources in the world at your disposal, so for fuck’s sake mobilize some of it.”

Rose and I exchange guilty glances. He’s right, we’ve been staggeringly self-centred. My half-hearted attempts at subverting the Batterwitch’s schemes may have served to royally piss her off, but can I honestly say they’ve had any effect on anyone else? Rose ties all of her stories up in elaborate metaphor so dense you could club yourself to death with it, so I’d be surprised if her fans have anything but a nagging sense of impending doom. Now that Karkat’s inside the circle of truth, it turns out it was a fucking play-pen all along.

He sighs, one hand cradling his forehead. I might self-combust from shame.

“I’m sorry, OK? I know you’ve both had your own shit going on. I just think maybe, _maybe_ , there are better ways to resist the machinations of an alien overlord than implying she might be a bit of a bitch via your respective media.”

“So what is your plan, Karkat?” Rose enquires, softly this time. Her tone is apologetic, even if her words aren’t.

“Well, for fucking starters, we need to get you two on every news website from here to the darkest recesses of the internet, because if the public gives two shits about you then Crocker will find it a damn sight more difficult to kill you without the human race throwing a tantrum. You two are going to be the most popular people on the fucking planet by the time we’re finished.”

She doesn’t want to kill me, she wants to fuck me. Maybe he’s right and she wants to fuck me to death. Something else is worrying about that last sentence.

“Who’s we, Karkat?”

It’s Karkat’s turn to look uncomfortable.

“Uh. I should probably have mentioned. Sollux is the Bumblebee.”

Holy shit, that makes a sick sort of sense. The “Bumblebee” has been a metaphorical thorn (sting?) in the side of the Condesce for years, launching more successful attacks against her propaganda than any other cyber-terrorist. Any that are still alive, that is. I fondly remember the screens of Times Square lighting up with scrolling “FUCK YOU, FISHY TITS” messages on New Year's eve. He’s rigged security systems to release political prisoners, overwhelmed her propaganda machine with pictures of the abused, displaced masses, and repeatedly crashed her networks with avalanches of obscure pornography. Fuck. I’m surprised I’m not drowning in bukkake spam after telling him to get his claws out of Karkat’s life.

Karkat’s grin is wicked. He’s admiring my discomfort like a true connoisseur.

“You’re going to be all over everything like a disgusting incurable gossipy rash, Dave. Humanity’s about to come down with Striderrhea.”

If I’m infectious, then Karkat’s case is terminal. Shit. This is going to be the opposite of fun.


	25. Intermission One: The bodegas and the lights on Upper Broadway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be a short break in updates while I figure out the rest of the story, we are about 70-80% done now...there will probably be as follows:
> 
> Chunk of time surrounding the election and Dave/Rose's birthday
> 
> Intermission two: the pesterlogs strike back
> 
> Chunk of time leading up to the end
> 
> Epilogue (one short chapter)
> 
> This is going to get sad, but there will still be silliness/fluff along the way. Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with this, and for your comments and hits and kudos. To say it's turned out longer and more complicated than I first planned would be an understatement. I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

CG: FUCK, STRIDER.

CG: LIBERACE IS SPINNING IN HIS GRAVE WITH ENVY AT THIS FUCKING APARTMENT.

CG: WASN’T THERE ANYTHING MORE OSTENTATIOUS AVAILABLE?

CG: PERHAPS THE TOMB OF THE LAST PHARAOH OF LAS VEGAS, OR A JEWEL-ENCRUSTED PIMP-BLIMP?

TG: i know its the best

TG: i <3 it karkat

TG: theres gonna be an article in time magazine about it

TG: the standard for what constitutes journalism has really gone down the shitter

CG: I PHYSICALLY CANNOT LIVE HERE.

CG: I WILL LITERALLY GO BLIND FROM THE CLASHING COLOURS.

CG: I THINK I MIGHT BE HAVING A STROKE. DAVE, I CAN SMELL THE WALLS MELTING AND IT HURTS MY BRAIN. 

TG: oh yeah? 

CG: THEY SMELL LIKE HORRIBLY OFFENSIVE INTERIOR DESIGN. 

CG: HOW THE FUCK IS LALONDE GOING TO COPE, HER ENTIRE HOUSE WAS MONOCHROME.

CG: ALTHOUGH THE BLACK BATHROOM SUITE PROBABLY DOES IT FOR HER.

TG: aww you cut me deep

TG: the bulletproof glass and state of the art security are pretty fucking dope though

CG: POLICE STATE CHIC IS VERY IN THIS SEASON.

TG: theres always the apartment downstairs if your eyes need a rest

TG: you can take refuge in sollux and fef’s palace of tastefulness

TG: im not supplying ear defenders though

CG: EVEN WITH THEM FUCKING AT FULL VOLUME, IT’S NOT AS LOUD AS THE DECOR IN HERE.

CG: ALL OF MY SHIT IS CURRENTLY MIGRATING DOWNSTAIRS AS WE SPEAK.

TG: naw babe dont make me stand in the hall with a boombox

TG: ive got some raps lined up thatll change your mind

TG: pretty sure youll cave when you hear me crying through the air ducts

CG: GODDAMN YOU’RE PATHETIC.

TG: you love it <3

CG: FUCK YOU

CG: <3

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

\--------------------------------

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering twinArmageddons [TA]

TG: sollux what the actual fuck

TG: “dave strider confesses: i was gay all along”

TA: front page new2, biitch

TG: where the fuck did you even find rezi

TG: “i found out he was a homosexual when he cried all the way through sex”

TG: what the fuckity fucking fuck

TG: i make other people cry with my sheer awesomeness in the sack

TA: ehehehe

TA: that wa2n’t me you a22, the reporter2 actually diid 2ome legwork for once

TA: anyway all new2 ii2 good new2

TA: you got a metriic fuckton of event2 iiviite2, FF ha2 put them all iin your calendar

TG: shit

TG: no please no

TG: not the celebrity parties sollux

TG: its gonna be hours and hours of people telling me how deep and meaningful they think my movies are

TG: they arent meaningful dude theyre shallow and stupid and brightly coloured like i am

TG: oh god and "what a struggle it must be coming out in the public eye" even though ive slept with dudes for years and they all fucking know it

TA: 2triider, diid ii mentiion how grateful ii am for thii2 job

TA: the job of makiing your liife mii2erable

TA: ii don’t thiink ii can ever make iit up two you except by doiing iit really fuckiing well

TG: yes you did mention

TG: a lot

TG: your ruthless efficiency is a miracle to behold

TG: you are a relentless terminator determined to fuck me over in every possible way

TG: your vibrating cyber cock of rumors and slander perfectly lined up with my ass 

TG: ready to hammer me right in the reputation until it bleeds self-esteem all over the place 

TA: damn 2traiight

TA: pun iintended

TA: anyway iit won’t bee 2o bad, KK can go wiith you iin a month or 2o

TA: he’2 our next liittle golden mediia nugget

TA: LL can go wiith you tiil then, 2he need2 2ome expo2ure two

TG: fuck why do we have to wait a month

TA: the floor2 are fuckiing thiin 2o ii know you tend to blow your load early, but iit won’t wa2h wiith the pre22.

TA: got two tea2e them a biit

TG: youre good at that after all

TG: dont bitch to me about the thin floors in your free apartment captor

TG: i could do without hearing you calling out “oh kk” during sex

TA: ha ha ha douchebag

TA: very fuckiing funny

TA: ii wiill actually 2tart doiing that iif iit’ll put you off

TA: FF ii2 very under2tandiing

TG: uh

TG: maybe not

TG: truce?

TA: no

TA: but ii’m not goiing to do iit

TA: ii don’t thiink KK would fiind iit very funny

TG: shit

TG: didnt think of that

TG: dude you totally have to do it now

TG: i want to see the look on his angry little face

TA: fuck no

TG: please

TG: pretty please

TG: its my birthday soon

TG: in like two months

TA: no you 2iick fuck

TG: lame

twinArmageddons [TA] blocked turntechGodhead [TA]

TG: prude

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering twinArmageddons [TA]

\--------------------------------

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] 

TG: karkat this party is so boring 

TG: i mean im gonna fucking pass out because all brain activity has stopped and no one will even notice 

TG: they'll just prop up my immobile body and keep on sucking up to it 

TG: you dont have to be alive to be everyones favorite topic of conversation 

TG: im not sure it even helps 

CG: I'M NOT YOUR PERSONAL ENTERTAINMENT SERVICE STRIDER. 

CG: CAN'T YOU FIND SOMEONE DEVASTATINGLY GOOD LOOKING AND FABULOUSLY WEALTHY TO TALK TO OR POSSIBLY FUCK? 

TG: wow dude 

TG: where the fuck did that come from 

CG: JUST GO AND SNORT SOMETHING UNTIL YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT LIFE ANY MORE. ISN'T THAT WHAT CELEBRITIES DO AT THESE THINGS? 

TG: karkat im teetotal you know that 

TG: whats wrong 

TG: are you drunk 

TG: did sollux give you drugs 

CG: WHAT NO 

CG: LEAVE SOLLUX ALONE 

CG: I JUST 

CG: YOU'RE IN A ROOM FULL OF THE WORLD'S MOST ATTRACTIVE PEOPLE AND LOTS OF DRUGS AND ALCOHOL, AND MY FUCKING BEST FRIEND PUT YOU THERE. 

CG: IT'S NOT THE NICEST FEELING. 

CG: I AM A BIT DRUNK. 

CG: MEDIUM DRUNK. 

TG: yeah no shit 

TG: dont worry man these people are dumber than a bag of hammers 

TG: well not all of them are but i dont care 

TG: none of them are karkat vantas 

TG: therefore who cares about them 

CG: WHAT'S SO FUCKING SPECIAL ABOUT ME? I'M NOT RICH OR FAMOUS OR INTERESTING OR ATTRACTIVE 

CG: YOU ARE LITERALLY THE MOST FAMOUS PERSON IN THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD 

TG: fuck dude 

TG: i love you you idiot 

TG: did you forget the part where were meant to be together like romeo and julian 

TG: all written in the stars like a big twinkly sign sayin karkat n dave 4eva xoxo 

TG: except neither of us are going to kill ourselves were just gonna be fucking happy instead 

TG: even having this stupid horrible conversation with you is better than talking to anyone else here 

TG: other than rose obvs 

TG: but shes pretty hammered right now so thats her coping mechanism 

TG: youre mine 

TG: coping mechanism and also soulmate 

TG: the only person im going to fuck for the rest of my life 

TG: thats a strider guarantee man 

CG: OK THAT SHOULDN'T BE ROMANTIC BUT IT SORT OF IS 

CG: YOU REALLY WOULDN'T FUCK ANYONE THERE 

TG: no of course not 

TG: stupid sexy idiot 

CG: GOOD. I WANT TO FUCK YOU TOO. 

TG: haha dude your saying fuck a lot and actually talking about fucking 

TG: thats not what you normally use that word for 

CG: NOW DAVE 

CG: COME HOME NOW SO I CAN FUCK YOU 

CG: THAT'S AN ORDER DON'T DISOBEY YOUR FUCKING LEADER 

TG: go to bed drunk karkat your adorable 

CG: NOT ADORABLE, HORNY AND LONELY 

CG: I MISS YOU AND YOUR DICK 

CG: I MAY BE DRUNKER THAN I SAID 

TG: ill be back soon i promise 

TG: i dont think youll be in any condition for my dick though 

TG: go to sleep gorgeous 

TG: karkat? 

TG: i am so showing rose this conversation 

TG: if you give permission say nothing 

CG: FUCK OFF DAVE 

CG: DON'T NEED YOU ANY MORE YOU MISSED YOUR WINDOW 

TG: fuck 

TG: well that should put you to sleep at least 

TG: love you you horny little dumbass 

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] 

\--------------------------------

twinArmageddons [TA] began pestering tentacleTherapist[TT] 

TA: ok ro2e the connection ii2 all 2et up 

TA: iit2 not traceable, ii promii2e 

TT: I can’t thank you enough, Sollux. 

TT: Really, I can’t. I don’t know how. 

TA: don’t worry about iit ro2e 

TA: iit’2 my plea2ure 

TA: you won’t have very long, ju2t to be 2afe ii wiill have to cut the liine after ten miinute2 

TT: Thank you. 

\--------------------------------

Secure connection to server !Bumblebastard! initiated 

tentacleTherapist [TT] joined the server 

grimAuxillatrix [GA] joined the server 

TT: Kanaya? 

GA: Rose 

GA: I Miss You So Much 

TT: I miss you too, Kanaya. I love you so much. 

TT: Are you safe? Are you OK? 

GA: Yes Everything Is Fine 

GA: We Are Being Sheltered By Trusted Friends 

GA: Porrim Is Certainly Showing Now But She Is Fine 

GA: As Long As We Keep Her Hidden No-one Is Looking For Us 

GA: She Is Annoyed About Being Cooped Up But It Is For Her Own Safety 

TT: That’s wonderful news, Kanaya 

TT: I wish 

TT: I wish I could be there with you. 

GA: I Do As Well 

GA: I Love You Rose 

GA: No Matter Where We Both Are I Will Always Love You 

TT: Oh Kanaya 

TT: I love you too 

TT: So much 

TT: This is so painful 

GA: I Know Its Terrible 

GA: I Wish I Had Come Home 

GA: I Should Be There With You 

GA: Til Death Do Us Part My Darling 

GA: And Forever After That 

TT: Kanaya, that’s very sweet. 

TT: I wish we had gotten married when we still had the opportunity 

GA: The Words Do Not Mean Any Less Because We Didnt 

GA: You Are Everything To Me Rose 

TT: And you are to me, darling. 

TT: I will always be with you, even if I’m not physically able to be 

TT: You did the right thing 

TT: It isn’t safe here and I can’t be the reason for you to be hurt. 

TT: Stay safe, my dear one. 

GA: You Stay Safe Too 

GA: I Love You <3 

TT: I love you too <3 

Secure connection to server !Bumblebastard! severed

\--------------------------------

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] 

CG: NO, DAVE. ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT. 

TG: why not kitkat youll look so hot 

TG: the suit fits perfectly you have to wear it 

TG: youll be like my angry cinderella 

TG: you shall go to the ball and grumble all the way through like a miserable little troll 

CG: IT’S BRIGHT RED 

CG: I'LL LOOK LIKE A MUTANT CANDY CANE 

CG: YOURS MATCHES, DOESN’T IT? 

CG: YOU’VE GOT AN IDENTICAL EYESORE FROM SOME BLIND EXCUSE FOR A TAILOR. 

TG: of course

CG: I'M GOING TO FIND THAT ASSHOLE AND STRANGLE HIM WITH HIS OWN THREAD. 

TG: its our big debut as the hottest celebrity couple 

TG: our solemn duty is to make everyone at the BAFTAs shit themselves with jealousy 

CG: GROSS. 

CG: WHY THE FUCK DO THE SHOES HAVE DIAMONDS PRINTED ON THE BOTTOM? 

TG: because you’re going to change your clothes and put on aftershave 

TG: then im gonna take you dancing 

CG: THIS ISN’T FAIR. YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO LIKE GOOD MUSIC AND USE IT AGAINST ME. 

CG: I’M NOT SLEEPING IN A FUCKING DOORWAY. 

TG: my suit has hearts on the sleeves if it makes you feel any better 

CG: THAT’S AS SWEET AS IT IS MORONIC. 

CG: WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK? 

TG: soon 

TG: nearly done with the script meeting 

CG: HOW DID THE BRIEFING OF INSANITY GO? 

CG: HAVE THE MEN IN WHITE COATS TURNED UP FOR YOU YET? 

TG: better than expected 

TG: stiller wilson and the glovester are all in surprisingly 

TG: so are most of the editors although they seem to think its a hilarious joke 

TG: i think the intensifying juggalo political campaign probably helped make my point 

CG: WELL, HURRY UP, ASSHOLE. 

TG: what has sollux gotten bored of thrashing you at video games 

CG: SHUT UP I KICKED HIS ASS YESTERDAY. 

TG: he was stoned dude 

TG: like really really stoned 

TG: i put katamari damacy on and he lost his shit 

TG: how does that even work if you cant see color 

CG: IT STILL FUCKING COUNTS, OK. 

CG: THAT’S NOT IT. 

TG: well what is it then cagy cagerson 

TG: nicholas cagey 

CG: IT’S A FUCKING SURPRISE, FUCKFACE. 

TG: ooooh I like the sound of that 

TG: did you get something for the boudoir 

TG: be still my beating heart 

CG: MAYBE. YOU WON’T FIND OUT IF YOU DON’T HURRY THE FUCK UP. 

TG: your so sweary when youre turned on 

TG: *swoon* 

CG: FUCK. 

CG: YOU. 

TG: *double swoon* 

TG: holy fuck 

TG: you mentioned it after we were talking about clothes 

TG: is it a dress dude 

TG: did you buy a sexy little dress 

CG: I GUESS YOU’LL NEVER KNOW SINCE MY ATTRACTION TO YOU LESSENS WITH EACH PASSING MINUTE. 

TG: omfg 

TG: on my way 

TG: dont move your beautiful ass 

CG: YOU’RE SUCH A HORNY LITTLE BITCH, STRIDER. 

TG: only for you babe 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

\--------------------------------

Her Imperious Condescention [)(er IC] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] 

)(er IC: you playing hard to get now bouy 

)(er IC: I like a challenge 

)(er IC: my hook never fails tho 

)(er IC: it don’t matter how much everybubble is in love with your hot little ass 

TG: everybubble really 

TG: that is terrible even for you 

)(er IC: terribubble you mean 

TG: no 

TG: i will not fish pun with you bitch 

)(er IC: you will if I say you will 

)(er IC: I’m the ruler of this useless lump of rock so you will do as I command 

TG: how about no 

TG: also fuck you 

)(er IC: this is fun an all but im gonna get bored with you if thats all you got 

)(er IC: stuff I’m bored with doesn’t live long 

TG: are you saying if i dont flirt with you youll kill me 

)(er IC: duh 

)(er IC: I'm only giving you a heads up cos you ain't a troll 

)(er IC: after this it's drones 

TG: what 

TG: coerced flirting gets you off then 

)(er IC: the hate's real 

)(er IC: try harder with the rest or you and your matesprit are dead 

)(er IC: got it 

TG: fine 

TG: fuck you you slimy scaly piece of sea trash 

TG: you smell like the underneath of a pier and your fashion sense is worse than mine 

TG: id rather fuck a rotting whale than your shipwreck of a body 

)(er IC: yeah bouy 

)(er IC: keep goin 

TG: fuck 

TG: are you getting off on this 

)(er IC: <3<

TG: gross 

TG: i am literally vomiting my last two meals into my toilet and its still more attractive than you 

TG: go scrape your butt barnacles and leave me the fuck alone 

)(er IC: key fin 

)(er IC: sea ya later crabbycakes 

)(er IC: <3<

TG: i thought all the vomit was gone but apparently not 

Her Imperious Condescention [)(er IC] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karkat has diamonds on the soles of his shoes (that is what the reference)


	26. Intermission Two: It was Earth all along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was more stuff I wanted to cover with pesterlogs, so here's another intermission :)

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist[TT] 

TG: holy shit rose i wish you could see this 

TG: its magnificent 

TT: Is it everything you dreamed it would be? 

TG: you bet its awesome 

TG: the adoration of the people of hopywoodoo is everything id hoped for 

TG: watching karkat on constant auto-facepalm is even better though 

TG: i think he might be about to have the most adorable aneurism in history 

TT: I’m sorry I missed it, I would have liked to have seen your final memorial to irony. 

TG: always so morbid rose 

TG: this is a tribute to mankinds achievements and a beautiful work of satire 

TT: Can JPEG artefact-riddled statues really be described as beautiful? 

TG: ok a butt-ugly work of satire then 

TG: it was earth all along rose 

TG: until she blew it up 

TT: God damn her to hell. 

TG: that damn dirty sea hag 

TT: Indeed. 

TG: how was the book launch 

TG: the press pick up that its about the batterbitch getting served by a big skull dude? 

TT: Predictably, no. 

TT: It won’t be lost on my readers, however. There are already numerous discussion articles speculating about the book’s true meaning. 

TG: yeah i like how you pretend your fans are all so smart 

TG: ive seen the fanfiction rose 

TG: theres like 5000 works about zazzerpan banging calwhatsit 

TG: like half of them are marked "explicit" 

TT: They are an imaginative bunch. I’m sure most of that is completely coherent, well plotted fiction, and in no way an insult to literature. 

TG: the sbahj fan communitys stuff is actually better than sbahj 

TG: which is so perfectly ironic it hurts 

TT: That is amusing. 

TT: You are flying home tomorrow, correct? 

TG: yup 

TG: cant wait to see yall again 

TG: karkat seriously hates LA 

TG: i mean yelling at every single storefront we pass hate 

TG: he must have offended like 9000 random horribly attired strangers 

TG: he called my dress sense tame by comparison so i bought some brighter outfits 

TT: Now I’m doubly disappointed I missed it. 

TT: Safe trip home tomorrow, Dave. I miss both of you. 

TG: we miss you too 

TG: karkat says “save me from this insufferable ass, lalonde” 

TG: see you soon 

TT: Bye, Dave. Feferi says to give grumpy a kiss from her. 

TG: done and done 

TG: love you 

TG: chin up, rose. I know it hurts. 

TG: ill give you the biggest fuckin hug when i get back 

TT: I love you too. Both of you. 

TT: Enjoy your time together. Don’t worry about me. 

TT: Please, it’s what I want. You have so little time, Kan and I had 15 years. 

TG: damn rose your gonna make me cry in front of all these photographers 

TG: Don't be silly. 

TT: Bye, boys. 

TG: bye rose 

TG:turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist[TT] 

\-----------------------------------------

twinArmageddons [TA] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] 

TA: KK for fuck2 2ake make 2triider turn hii2 godawful excu2e for mu2iic down. 

TA: the fuckiing ceiiliing ii2 viibratiing. 

CG: I ADMIT IT'S LOUD, BUT I’M NOT HIS FUCKING MOM. 

CG: ASK HIM YOURSELF. 

TA: ii already diid. 

CG: HE SAYS YOU TOLD HIM TO SHOVE HIS MORONIC RECORDS UP HIS ASS AND THEN IMPALE HIS MINUSCULE DICK ON THE PLAYER’S NEEDLE. 

TA: well yeah but iim pretty 2ure ii 2aiid plea2e at 2ome poiint. 

TA: 2o ii wa2 a2 poliite a2 iim goiing two bee two that a22. 

CG: SOLLUX. WILL YOU FUCKING GET OVER YOURSELF? 

CG: I GET THAT YOU'RE HOT SHIT WITH A KEYBOARD AND YOU THINK STRIDER’S AN IDIOT. HE IS AN IDIOT. BUT HE ALSO *GAVE YOU AN APARTMENT*. 

CG: WHAT THE FUCK ELSE DOES HE NEED TO DO TO GET YOU TO STOP BEING SUCH AN ALMIGHTY DOUCHECANOE TOWARD HIM? HE LITERALLY HASN’T DONE ANYTHING TO OFFEND YOU EXCEPT EXIST VAGUELY PROXIMATE TO YOU. 

TA: ii know. 

TA: ii’m 2orry, ok? 

TA: ii know you care about hiim and ii don’t even hate hiim really. 

TA: ii just haven’t 2een much of you lately. iit’2 bummiing me out. 

CG: FUCK, SOL. 

CG: WHY NOT JUST SAY “I WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU” INSTEAD OF “YOUR BOYFRIEND’S AN ASSHOLE”. 

TA: yeah that would have been better. 

TA: 2orry agaiin. ii’ll leave you alone. 

CG: NO, YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT WHAT I WANT. YOU’RE ON A DOWNSWING, AREN’T YOU? DID YOU TAKE YOUR MEDS? 

TA: ye2 for fuck2 2ake. they’re not magiic med2 KK. 

TA: plu2 the miigraiine fuel comiing from 2triider'2 room really ii2nt helpiing. 

CG: OK, I’LL GET HIM TO STOP. HE’S PROBABLY DONE ENOUGH TO THAT POOR PIECE OF MUSIC ANYWAY. I CAN’T EVEN FUCKING TELL WHAT IT STARTED OUT AS. 

TA: iim pretty 2ure iit wa2 2ex bomb. 

TA: what a 2leaze. 

CG: STOP IT. 

CG: I’LL COME DOWNSTAIRS AND HANG OUT, BUT ONLY IF YOU STOP BEING SUCH AN ASS TO DAVE. 

CG: YOU ARE AWARE THAT I LOVE THAT STUPID TOOL, RIGHT? 

TA: ye2 you giiant 2ofty, iit’2 pretty fuckiing obviiou2. 

TA: why do you get two iin2ult hiim but ii don’t? 

CG: FIRSTLY BECAUSE HE KNOWS I DON’T MEAN IT, AND I KNOW YOU’RE AWARE OF THE SECOND REASON BECAUSE YOU NEVER STOP FUCKING COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW THIN THE FLOORS ARE. 

TA: gro22, KK. 

TA: not even unliimiited iin2ult priivelage2 are worth doiing that. 

CG: GLAD YOU THINK SO. I THINK I MIGHT THROW UP ALL MY INTERNAL ORGANS IF I WALKED IN ON YOU TWO HAVING THEX. 

TA: why? for the love of god why? 

TA: ii feel liike 2hiit KK don’t put horriible iimage2 iin my head. 

CG: OK, I'LL STOP. 

CG: I’M COMING OVER. THERE MAY BE SOUP. 

TA: you’re the be2t, dude. ii'd kii22 you iif ii diidn't know where you'd been. 

CG: DON’T YOU FUCKING FORGET IT. 

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

\-----------------------------------------

Her Imperious Condescention [)(er IC] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] 

)(er IC: yo i got a fuckin pitchgift for you bouy 

)(er IC sent the file sbahj_remastered.mov 

TG: WHAT THE FUCK 

TG: YOU CLEANED UP THE JPEGS YOU UNBELIEVABLE MONSTER 

)(er IC: ha ha the caps are out 

)(er IC: u wanna take this somewhere more private 

TG: FUCK YOU 

)(er IC: finnaly 

TG: NOT IN THAT WAY I FUCKING HATE YOU 

TG: LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE 

)(er IC: well, everyone in the world’s about to get a copy of that movie gratis 

)(er IC: and I’ll sea you soon 

)(er IC: gonna send you an invite you can’t fuckin refuse 

)(er IC: or I’ll have you assassinated <3<

TG: FINE WHATEVER FML 

TG: AAAAAUGH 

)(er IC: glub glub motherfucker 

Her Imperious Condescention [)(er IC] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] 

\-----------------------------------------

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering twinArmageddons [TA] 

TT: sup sollux 

TT: you managed to connect to it yet? 

TA: ye2. Iit’2 onliine now. 

TA: ii stiill can’t beliieve you 2pent liike 90% of your money on thiis. 

TT: dude it was your idea 

TT: plus i totally managed to pass it off as an environmental thing so nobody suspects anything 

TA: that doe2n't mean ii expected you two ju2t 2ay "fuck iit let'2 do thii2 2hiit." 

TA: ii gue22 iit would have been worth iit anyway ju2t two get riid of all that .jpeg garbage. 

TA: but ii stiill can’t quiite beliieve we have a comm2 2at and 2erver at earth’2 fuckiing traiiliing lagrange. 

TA: iit’2 liike ii woke up iin arthur c. clark’2 wet dream. 

TT: yup that sure was a lot of science words you just said 

TA: ii also fiind iit hard two 2wallow that you can be thiis cluele22 and al2o 2o fuckiing a2tronomiically riich. 

TT: naw im merely very very rich now 

TT: if you dont count assets 

TT: so can you start the backup? 

TT: theres so many bytes or bits or whatever of storage we should be able to fit a fair chunk of the internet on it 

TT: and all the personal shit we want to make sure the kids find 

TA: lol @ the way you 2aid that. you’re 2uch a noob, 2triider. 

TT: yeah yeah cyberpuke. just back that shit up. 

TA: *beep beep beep* 

TA: (that’2 me backing 2hiit up) 

TA: 

TT: haha 

TT: we’re gonna have apocalypse club pizza night and play warioware later so come up whenever you feel like it 

TT: on the condition that you use the fucking lanyard this time 

TT: those weird disembodied hand warning screens arent there for nothing sollux 

TA: ok iit wa2 one tv 2triider. 

TA: 2top briingiing iit up. 

TT: maybe if you win 

TT: either way itll be fun watching karkat flip out cos he cant balance a panda on a ball or shave a yeti or whatever 

TA: oh hell ye2 2ign me the fuck up. 

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering twinArmageddons [TA]

\-----------------------------------------

Secure connection to server !Buzzbutt! initiated 

tentacleTherapist[TG] joined the server 

grimAuxillatrix [GA] joined the server 

TT: Hello my love. 

TT: I’m so glad you’re still safe <3 

GA: And You My Darling <3 

GA: I Have Good News 

GA: We Managed To Find A Doctor Who Could Be Trusted To Perform An Ultrasound 

GA: The Baby Is Healthy 

TT: Oh Kanaya, that’s wonderful news! 

TT: I’m so glad! 

TT: I’m crying, darling :) 

GA: There Is More Rose 

GA: It Is A Girl 

GA: We Will Have A Niece 

TT: How lovely! I know she will be every bit as beautiful and headstrong as all the Maryam women. 

TT: Congratulate Porrim for me :) 

GA: She And I Have Been Talking 

GA: And We Would Like Her To Be Named Rosemary After You 

TT: Oh, my dear. 

TT: I’m so flattered, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea. 

GA: Why Not Rose? 

TT: I just don’t want you to be sad every time you call her name. She deserves better than that. 

GA: Oh Rose I Didn’t Think Of That 

GA: I Just Wanted It To Be A Way For Us To Honor You 

TT: I am honored. The suggestion is enough. 

TT: Could I maybe make an alternative suggestion? 

GA: Of Course My Love 

TT: Would the name Roxy be suitable? 

TT: That's what I always wanted to name my daughter. Our daughter. 

GA: Its Perfect 

GA: I Love It 

GA: But Not Half As Much As I Love You 

TT: The feeling is mutual, dear. 

TT: We should disconnect, Sollux is signalling me. 

TT: Speak again soon. 

GA: Of Course 

GA: I Will Contact You Whenever We Can Establish A Connection 

GA: I Love You My Wonderful Rose 

GA: You Are Doing So Well 

GA: Give My Love To Dave 

TT: I will. 

TT: I miss you. I love you. 

GA: I Love You Too 

Secure connection to server !Buzzbutt! severed

\-----------------------------------------

cuttlefishCuller [CC] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] 

CC: Did you get it did you get it did you get it 

CC: I’m so -------Excited!! 8D 

TG: calm down fef your gonna have a heart attack 

TG: yes i got it 

CC: --------E-E-E-E!!!! 

TG: dude what even is that 

TG: youre so adorably weird 

CC: What does it look like??? 

TG: youll have to fucking wait and see wont you 

CC: I can’t wait!!! 

TG: well tough 

TG: you arent supposed to know anything about this fef 

TG: your supposed to fucking knock when a guys making a personal phone call to a jeweller 

CC: Are you nervous? 

TG: yeah kinda 

TG: ok incredibly fucking nervous 

TG: what if he thinks im being an ironic tool or ive just lost my fucking mind or something 

CC: H-E won’t Dave 

CC: his little heart will explode 8D 

TT: Thats not as reassuring as you meant it fef 

cuttlefishCuller [CC] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]


	27. Happy Birthday, Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the poem (actually sorry).  
> Sorry about the fluff (not sorry).

“Happy Birthday!” I yell, bursting into the room balancing a tray of breakfast.

Rose wakes with a start, but her composure snaps into place almost immediately. Karkat snickers at her zero-to-perfect transition, following me into the room with a pot of expensive coffee. She permits herself a small smile in return as we climb onto the bed. It’s not her birthday, but the election is tomorrow, and shit is well and truly about to hit the fan. Together, we all decided to celebrate one last birthday. It didn’t seem fair that Rose and I would be the only ones to live long enough for presents and cake and getting drunk with our little end-times family.

“Happy Birthday to you too, boys.” Rose replies.

I wrap my arms around her, holding her a little tighter than usual. Stumbling blindly toward the end of human civilization has taken a toll on all of us, but Rose has had to go it alone. The least we can do is let her know how much we love her. Karkat has outdone himself with the stacks of pancakes, even if it meant starting at 8am so he wouldn’t have to repeatedly slap Sollux’s hands away. For a shut-in, the guy burns through calories like nobody’s business. Ten pancakes and one marginally less grumpy hacker later, Karkat could finally start on breakfast for everyone else. Rose didn’t join us at the dining table. We’d all avoided mentioning it, but chatting and laughing and wearing our stupid hats without her had felt wrong.

She eats slowly, with me and Karkat curled up either side of her. We can’t do a lot to lift her mood, but we do what we can. Karkat reads some pages from his romance fic, the draft of the novel he’d always wanted to write. We’re getting to a good bit, and his face turns an attractive pink as he describes his protagonists entwined in one another’s passionate embrace. Rose and I share a knowing, amused glance; the main character is a starving artist, his lover is a famous media-sellout. They love and hate each other with a passion that burns with the fire of a thousand clumsy metaphors. His prose is good; it would definitely be publishable if he didn’t mind cover art with an excess of exposed skin and silk shirts. Come to think of it, he’d fucking love that. It’s a crying shame there won’t be time, if I’d met him sooner he would have been able to concentrate on fulfilling the erotic fantasies of lonely housewives instead of ticketing cars.

Eventually, we coax Rose out from under the duvet, aided by a brief conversation with Kanaya. Sollux’s servers have been her lifeline, without them she might have drunk herself to an even more premature death. Porrim is driving them all crazy; Kan thinks little Roxy is desperate to get out and see the world. We all hope there will still be a world left to see.

After coffee, we all sit around the table, party hats equipped and poppers at the ready. Everyone has gifts, it’s everyone’s party and no-one's. Most of them are home-made, ridiculous things. Rose has been crocheting non-stop for weeks, so we all receive a little woolen animal. Feferi squeals at the sight of her little guppy, and Sollux smiles the widest I’ve ever seen when she hands him his almost-spherical bee. Karkat gets a little red crab wearing sunglasses, which he decides will live in the pocket of his turtleneck for the rest of the morning, claws dangling over the rolled fabric. Mine is a fat, black crow. He’s wearing a turtleneck, and I love him. I can’t decide between Karcrow and Cawkat, but Rose promises to help me name him later, so long as I stop babbling about it right now.

Karkat’s gifts are, weirdly, poetry. Each is a little verse, and we take it in turns to read them out. Mine is short, but that doesn’t mean my eyes don’t tear up a little as I read:

_Hiding never saved a soul,_  
_And fame is just a mask,_  
_Behind it lies my everything,_  
_You’re all that I could ask._

_I’ve told you that I hate you,_  
_And it was always true,_  
_But my life would be empty,_  
_If it wasn’t spent with you._

_You can’t know that you’re searching,_  
_If you don’t know where to start,_  
_Fate gave you a ticket,_  
_And I give you my heart._

The other poems aren’t nearly as sappy, Sollux and Feferi’s are humor pieces about the joys and pitfalls of having them as housemates, and Rose gets a gothic parody. He blushes at the compliments, especially when I refute his claim that it sounds like “a shitty hallmark card.”

Feferi has been baking, and gives everyone a gigantic cookie with their name iced on it in curly lettering. Sollux is cryptic about his group gift, saying we’ll have to wait and see. My gifts are framed photographs. Karkat nagged me for weeks before I finally blew the dust off my old camera, the one possession from my days in the children’s home I still cherish. The Lalondes had bought it second-hand (it was ancient even then), and I’d been silent for an hour after they gave it to me, fiddling with the mysterious knobs and buttons. The training room in this new apartment now doubles as a darkroom, and I’ve been taking shots of whatever catches my interest.

Karkat’s photo is of him writing, his face absorbed with concentration as he taps at his laptop keys. He looks so determined, so confident, it’s everything I love about him. Sollux’s is a picture of his victory celebration after winning at a videogame, his controller held aloft as Karkat shoves him hard in the side. Feferi’s is of her at one of my press events, glowing as she pumps Ben Stiller’s hand. She’s slipped into her role as my assistant so seamlessly I wonder how I ever managed without her. I've never met someone who could boss people around so forcefully, whilst still leaving them with a smile on their faces.

Rose’s is a little different; a picture of her and me and Kanaya drinking milkshakes at the place around the corner from Rose’s college dorm. I’m wearing a deadpan expression and holding bunny ears behind Rose’s head; Kanaya is kissing her on the cheek. Rose was stubbornly goth at the time, and she scowls out of the picture with only the tiniest suggestion of a smirk. Whoever we asked to take the picture took it slightly wonky, and its imperfections make it even better. It’s my favorite picture of us; a copy of it sits by my bed, next to the one of me and Karkat in front of a jpeg-riddled statue of liberty. For years it was the last thing I saw before I went to sleep. Rose’s eyes shine with tears as she holds as if she’s never going to let it go.

Sollux checks the time on his phone obsessively for the next twenty minutes, before calling us over to the window. One of Crocker’s indoctrination blimps is floating above central park, its screens displaying their usual “OBEY”,”SUBMIT”, and “PAY YOUR TAXES” messages. When it reaches the center of our window, the words disappear, replaced by violent yellow text exclaiming:

HAPPY BIIRTHDAY BIITCHE2!!!

The message rolls around a few times, bracketed by his trademark bees, before switching to display a slide show of very large, very erect penises. The blimp motors up and away swiftly, the operators no doubt called back to base after realizing they were broadcasting Dongs Take Manhattan. The cheers and laughter from our apartment are deafening, and I can’t resist patting Sollux so hard on the back that he nearly topples over.

The agreement has been to treat the day like a family Christmas, since the only Christmas we have left is likely to be less than jolly. That means aggressively enforced chillout time, videogames and shitty movies. I pop the first SBAHJ in, much to Feferi’s joy, and remind Karkat that we need to go and pick up the cake. It’s going to be fucking magnificent, but we have to drive across town to the LOLCAT to collect it.

Karkat sighs as he reluctantly shrugs his jacket on.

"Remind me again why the fuck we have to go and pick up the cake? Couldn't you send one of your lackeys to do it?"

Karkat grins at Christian as he holds the elevator for us, and he replies with a sarcastic salute. If I was going to have bodyguards, I wanted to make damn sure I trusted them. Christian's promotion to head of security came with a ludicrous pay rise, enough to afford a cabin in the Canadian backwoods where his family might actually survive the coming shitstorm. More than enough compensation to justify working for an ass who only ever refers to you as Charles, Charlie or Chuck.

"I thought you might want to say hello to Nepeta." I explain.

He nods, grudgingly. We both know this is likely to be goodbye, not hello. The rain has rolled in since breakfast, spattering on the windshield of the nondescript sedan that I'm now forced to travel in. Karkat stares languidly out of the side window, unaware of the fact that I'm quietly losing my shit. The lump in my throat feels roughly the same size and shape as the little box in my pocket. I have to stop myself from fiddling with it, from taking out the gold band with its twin rubies and running it through my fingers the way I have done for a week, every time Karkat went to have a shower. I guessed the size, basing it on my thickest finger. His hands are so much more solid and sure than mine.

Deciding to propose was a stupid, stupid idea, but I want to do it so badly it hurts. He's always loved romance, he deserves as much romance as I can pack into our short time together. Even so, I'm terrified he's going to say no, tell me I'm being a moron, point out that we can't actually get married anyway because, hello, it's the apocalypse and we're all going to die. We might be dead by the end of the week, tomorrow we have to fly to Washington for The Condesce's Election party. The invite made it very clear that we either go voluntarily or be dragged there by the drones. I don't care. Something tells me he'll forgive me even if it turns out to be a disaster.

The car swings further south, away from the upper East Side and the LOLCAT cafe. Karkat doesn't question it, lost in his own thoughts. It's easy to lose yourself as the buildings glide by, especially if you spent most of your life taking the subway. He turns and frowns when we pull up at Rockerfeller Plaza, though. I grin, trying to hide my nerves.

"We never did have that date, man. I thought we could pop to the Top and see the city while we've got a minute to ourselves."

He looks at me like I'm crazy.

"It's raining, fucknuts. What exactly do you think we'll be able to see?"

I shrug, getting out of the car and taking the umbrella Chuck hands me. He opens another for Karkat, who grudgingly steps out into the rain. Taking the hand that isn't holding the umbrella, I lead him into the lobby of the Rockerfeller building, and head to the counter to get three tickets for the Top of the Rock. The desk is deserted, but ringing the little bell summons a sleepy clerk who immediately perks up at the sight of us. She babbles inane praise for my movies as she prints the tickets, and I can practically feel Karkat hating her guts.

The lifts are just as empty, but there are one or two people in the covered observation lounge. I ask Charlie to stay by the escalator and stop them from heading up into the rain. He and Karkat both give me an incredulous raised eyebrow, and with good reason. The rain is heavy now, obscuring most of the park and the downtown skyscrapers. Not exactly the perfect setting for a fairytale proposal. Karkat shivers slightly in the breeze, his thin jacket not really suitable for the November weather. I put my shades away, I'm not going to ask the most important question of my life through a layer of dark glass. Guiding him to one of the building's edges, I point out in the direction of my old apartment.

"Remember when we first met?" I ask, redundantly. It was only three months ago.

"Yes, dumbass. I'd need medical treatment if I'd forgotten already."

I look down at him and smile.

"I totally fucked your brains out." I reply, smugly.

He punches me on the arm, smiling, and tells me I'm a jackass. We can't really make out the building, but we pretend we can. I pull Karkat close, so he can share my umbrella and my warmth, and take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

He starts to speak to me as I reach into my pocket for the ring-box, asking me what's going on. Naturally, I fumble the damn thing, sending it skittering across the floor. For a gut-wrenching second I think it's going over the edge, between the thick panes of acrylic. Thankfully, it bounces off. Karkat is looking at me like he's been slapped, so I grab for it, a constant litany of fuck fuck fuck occupying all of my thoughts.

Straightening up, box in hand, I panic a little and open it, shoving it towards his shocked face. I curse internally as I hear myself force out the words:

"Doyouwannnamarrymeorwhatever?"

He doesn't react for a few seconds. Eventually, swallowing, he tears his eyes away from the ring and looks up at my crimson face.

"Sorry, Strider, I didn't quite catch that. Also, I think I'd hear it better if you were down on one knee."

He's smiling wickedly at me now, filling my body with heat: embarrassment, desire and elation combined. I look down at the sodden concrete, at my expensive designer jeans.

Eh. He's worth it. I get down, presenting the ring like a holy offering, and try again. This time, I manage a bit of Strider flourish.

"I love you, Karkat Vantas. Will you do me the honor if making me the happiest idiot on the planet, and agree to marry my stupid ass?"

He laughs, smiling.

"Is it you or your ass asking?"

I grin. "Both, dude. Obviously."

"Then, yes. I'll fucking marry you, Dave." He smiles widely, clasping his hands around mine. "Can we get out of the rain now?"

I nod, returning his smile.

When we're under cover, I watch Karkat slip the ring onto his finger. His smile is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen as he admires the red stones set into a cancer engraving. Just like the restaurant on our first date. Both of our eyes are moist, our faces a little wet. It's totally the rain, because we certainly haven't been crying. He looks at me questioningly as I retrieve another box, this one holding a ring in my size. Its engraving is a broken record, a single ruby at the center. I mumble an explanation, still overwhelmed by his happiness.

"I uh, got a ring for me too. Cause, y'know, we're both guys or whatever, and I didn't want you thinking I expect you to start wearing dresses...unless you want to cause you know I have zero problems with that, like actually negative problems. You're so fuckin' hot, I don't care what you wear. And...cause we probably won't be able to actually have a wedding, sorry. Or, like, we could have a secret one with the guys there, just nothing public. I think Her Incredible Bitchiness would probably firebomb the ceremony. One wedding and a fuckton of funerals."

He looks a little downhearted, but he nods in agreement.

"So I thought, uh, we could use these as wedding bands too. If you're happy to skip the engagement, I mean. Sorry, I know I've been rambling my ass off here. Sure you still want me as a husband?"

Karkat deadpans at me, his usual expression for when I'm being an idiot.

"Yes, moron. I love you, even if the rest of the world just thinks I'm your boy toy. Like I've ever given a shit what your fans think."

Pulling him into a too-tight hug, I use my height to engulf him until he starts struggling. I muffle his protests with my damp coat, and smirk when he manages to free himself, his hair a complete mess.

"No backsies, dude. You've got a one-way ticket on the Strider-Vantas express, and it's non-refundable."

I snap a picture of him flipping me off, the ring on his finger prominently displayed. God, he's perfect.

Christian looks askance at me as we descend the escalator, our rings tucked away in Karkat's jacket.

"One of your knees is wet, Strider."

I wink, and I'd bet my entire fortune that Karkat is blushing a deep pink. Chuck snorts at us, before shaking his head and heading to the lifts. No-one else seems interested in heading up into the gathering storm.


	28. The Prodigal Seer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes best with this beautiful video from Garfunkel and Oates. The little guy even has horns like Karkat's, and it makes me think of these lovely dorks every time.  
> [Rainbow Connections](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MneRtx7x2vs)

Feferi ambushes us when we return to the apartment, nearly knocking the cake out of my hands with her animated bouncing. I guess she didn't think Karkat was going to say no. She knocks all the air out of him with loud "oof", still bouncing on the balls of her feet. He flushes pink at the attention, before prying her away so he can breathe.

"I guess Strider told you what he had planned, then?"

Fef nods at him, barely suppressing a loud squeal.

"Well, I said yes, OK? Please don't deafen everyone within a two-block radius."

The neighbouring blocks are probably safe, but everyone in the building is going to need a hearing aid. I lug the cake into the kitchen, and I'm halfway through recounting to the room in general how Nepeta practically pounced on Karkat, purring with delight at seeing us together, when I notice there's a stranger sitting in one of the big leather armchairs. Or, not a stranger exactly, but someone completely unexpected. Karkat's face turns pale when he sees him.

"Kankri?"

The elder Vantas looks worse for wear; his face has become lined with worry since I met him under the Hollywood lights, and his clothes are in dire need of laundering. A bedraggled hold-all sits at his feet, no-doubt containing all of his worldly goods. I sent a cheque for fifty thousand dollars to Kankri's compound months ago, along with a letter instructing him to get in touch with me or Karkat. I'd expected him to pay off his debts with it, hoped he would phone one of us to let us know he was OK. I didn't expect him to show up out of the blue.

Kankri won't look at him, maybe can't look at him. He's so quiet. I remember someone so filled with self-righteousness that it overflowed in a never-ending torrent of words. This person seems hollow. Karkat breaks the silence, clearing his throat loudly.

"Kankri, what the fuck are you doing here?"

His tone is angry, definitely, but there's also a deep concern in his words. He walks slowly to where his brother sits, kneeling down in front of him so that he can't avoid meeting his eyes. The look on Kankri’s face is agonizing; it's pure shame.

"I'm here to apologize, Karkat...for everything. And…because I don't have anywhere else to go."

I see a little of his old self in the way he puts a hand on Karkat's shoulder, as if he's about to deliver some words of wisdom. Wisdom is the opposite of what tumbles out of his mouth.

"After our last...conversation, I ended up doing a lot of contemplation during my period of incarceration. I reached the conclusion that I have probably been a less-than-positive influence on your life, of late. I...I am sorry, Karkat."

Karkat looks stunned; as far as he's told me Kankri has never once apologized for anything he's done. Even as a little kid, he would justify his every misbehavior relentlessly, meeting his father's threats with a self-assured "I'm sorry you feel the need to resort to punishment."

Karkat's eventual response is choked, filled with emotion.

"Fuck, Kankri. When you asked me to pay that fucking fine, I didn't think they’d throw your stupid stoner ass in prison...I thought one of your asshole followers would cough it up. I'm sorry you had to go through that...but I just couldn't...I barely had enough to pay the rent."

Kankri nods, studying a piece of the floor intently.

"But I'm glad you're here. I missed you."

Karkat gives him an awkward hug, and he shudders with relief in a painfully familiar way. The two Vantases look a lot more alike than I remember, whether because Karkat's face has softened or Kankri's has hardened. The brotherly-love-fest is shattered when an amped-up Sollux stalks into the room. He's obviously been waiting for Karkat to come home, and is none too pleased to find him embracing Kankri.

"What the fuck, KK? Seriously? This asshole bleeds you dry for years, and then comes crawling to you when his band of morons decide they'd rather be fucking juggalos because the weed’s stopped flowing, and you just let him in? How convenient, especially since you've bagged a fucking billionaire. After all the times you've cried your stupid eyes out over him? Why are you even acknowledging this waste of space?"

Sollux is wound tighter than I've ever seen, his lisp exaggerated by the tension so that "waste of space" comes out sounding like a Daffy Duck impression. Everyone in the room knows what Karkat's answer will be before he says it.

"He's my brother, Sol. And we don't have long left. None of that shit really matters any more, does it?"

Sollux deflates, his rage seeping away as Feferi loops her arms around his waist. He leans into her sturdy little body, and I can see how terrified he is that Karkat is going to get hurt again. I hope telling him our news will make him feel better, and not make him want to claw my face off for stealing his best friend. Months of me sticking around have resulted in a friendly truce, whereby Sol can demand as much attention from Karkat as he's willing to give. I don't begrudge him the occasional mornings I wake to find myself alone, a picture message from Fef of the two of them curled up on the sofa blinking for attention on my phone. I hope he knows me well enough not to fly off the handle, or at least not acrobatically so.

Rose touches me lightly on the arm as she watches Karkat fussing over his brother. Kankri's haughty demeanor seems to be reasserting itself a little, and I can hear him lecturing Karkat on the evils of caffeine.

"He said you invited him to visit. I told security to let him in, I hope you don't mind. It was fairly obvious he is who he claims to be."

Not exactly true, I definitely didn’t invite him to just show up, but I suppose I probably paid for his plane ticket. Either way, it looks like it turned out for the best. I give her a smile of thanks. Feferi squeals again as she unboxes the cake, giggling at the masterpiece we’ve had custom-made. I’m pretty proud of it.

Security buzzes the intercom, and Sollux slouches out to collect the pizzas he’s ordered – most of them aren’t completely foul combinations, but there are a few of his signature pineapple and anchovy frankenpizzas. When everyone’s comfortably lounging, full of cheese and grease, I nudge Karkat in the side. This seems like as good a time as any to administer the matrimonial smack-down. He smirks at me pointedly. Fuck, he’s going to make me tell everyone. I clear my throat and sit up, aware of the fact that all eyes are suddenly on me.

“Uh, I’ve got some news, guys. I mean news so hot it would literally melt the brains of the masses like a gossip blowtorch. I don’t want to be responsible for the kind of mass faintings that would follow in the wake of this news...”

Karkat kicks me sharply in the leg.

“…and I should probably shut the fuck up now and get to the fucking point, shouldn’t I? What I mean is, I asked Karkat to marry my sorry ass. He said yes, but I think he might want to reconsider after all that bullshit I just said.”

The room is silent for a few seconds, before Feferi resumes her excited squealing and Rose is flying across the floor into my arms. She’s sobbing but smiling. Sollux looks stunned for a moment, before marching toward Karkat and practically lifting him off his feet. I hear him lisping something into Karkat’s ear, probably along the lines of he’s prepared to tear me limb from limb if I so much as put a toe out of line. Karkat smacks him gently around the head before returning the hug.

Kankri is hard to read, the soft smile on his face co-existing uncomfortably with a small frown. I guess he doesn’t know me from the next handsome billionaire, but I would have thought my generosity would win me some boyfriend points. Besides, he’s hardly been much of a positive presence in Karkat’s life lately. Deciding to be the bigger man, I disentangle myself from Rose with a big kiss to her cheek, and extend a hand to Vantas Sr. His handshake is limp and unenthusiastic. Fuck you very much, brother-in-law. This isn’t about you, so you can keep your opinions to yourself for once.

Turning to find Karkat within touching distance, I pull him in and dip him dramatically, grinning at the surprise on his face. I can feel him smile in response when I kiss him thoroughly. The sound of a champagne cork popping and an accompanying round of cheers and wolf-whistles turns it into a perfect moment. I feel like I could fly. The temptation to give Kankri a discrete middle finger is the only thing diverting my attention from the euphoria of kissing my husband or fiancée or true love in front of the family I never knew I needed.

Predictably, Sollux marches me into the kitchen after candles and cake. The murmur of the party can’t hide the tension in his voice.

“He’s going to hurt him again, you know. I’ve put him back together enough times, Strider. I’ve seen the damage Kankri can do without even fucking thinking.”

His usual brooding irritation has given way to genuine worry, and for once his ire isn’t directed at me. Glancing through the doorway at Karkat, I can see how much he cares about his brother, even as he loudly calls him a moron.

“I didn’t invite him here. I just sent him some money so he could get out of whatever shit he got himself into. I just wanted to be able to tell Kar he was OK. I’ve found him crying a few times, Sol. He’s been so goddamn worried.”

Sollux nods, and I choke up a little when he wraps skinny arms around me. He lets go immediately, embarrassed. Whether it’s the champagne or the emotion of the evening, this is the first time I’ve felt like he really accepts me. I give him a stupid little grin.

“What was that for, man? Not complaining or anything.”

“For caring, asshole. And for everything else. I’ll still rip your heart out and make you eat it if you hurt him.”

I laugh and pat him on the back just a little too hard, demonstrating exactly how seriously I take that threat. There’s no sense in letting a perfectly good friendly rivalry go to waste, after all, especially when it’s so easy to get under his skin. His curled lip reasserts itself as he heads back into the living room, flipping me the bird with a mere shadow of his usual enthusiasm.

I don’t want today to be over, but Fef has already dragged Sollux back downstairs before he passes out on the sofa, following the example set by the illustrious Ms. Lalonde. I steer her sleepy-drunk ass toward her room and she kisses me goodnight, smearing purple lipstick all over my cheek.

“C’ngratulations, Davey.” She sighs, before sinking into her bed fully clothed. She’s not hammered, just tired, I’ve been keeping an eye on her all night. She probably won’t feel so good in the morning, though.

Kankri is, like me, still stone-cold sober. I hear him sniff as I carry my tipsy, overly-affectionate fiancée/husband into our bedroom, promising I won’t be long. I just need to get his brother sorted with somewhere to sleep (not that he deserves it). He blows me a kiss before flopping down like a starfish in the middle of the bed.

As much as he might hate it, it’s going to have to be the couch for Kankri. The spare rooms are full of supplies or weapons or developing chemicals. Besides, the last thing I want to do is give him the impression that he suddenly lives here now. I don’t want him to just fuck off, either, but he’s going to have to be nicer to me if he wants an actual bed to sleep in.

Grabbing a few pillows and a blanket, I hand them over. His expression is one of long-suffering serenity that makes me want to punch him.

“What exactly is your problem with me, Vantas?”

Might as well get this shit aired out before he sets up shop in my apartment.

“Ever since I made the engagement announcement, you’ve been treating me like I’m something you found on the bottom of your shoe. For someone who used my money to get here, and who’s staying under my goddamn roof, you don’t seem to be very grateful.”

His face contorts into a sneer that the Batterwitch herself would be proud of.

“Since you ask, I’m just not convinced that there’s anything behind that celebrity façade of yours. Of course, you have money and privilege, and that’s all very well and good for you. I was merely hoping that Karkat might choose someone with more substance to share his life with, someone who isn’t a perpetuator of the stereotype of the spoiled man-child. He’s special, and very dear to me. I just want him to be fulfilled in all areas of his life, not simply the material. In case you were interested, after settling my debts and purchasing my plane ticket, I donated the remainder of your Hollywood money to charity.”

I have to try very hard not to throw him out of the nearest window. Curling and uncurling one fist helps a little, except that I want to throw my weight behind it into his smug, self-righteous face.

“Fuck you, Kankri. You want to talk about spoiled rich kids? I’ve spoken to your brother, you know. I know exactly how far the silver spoon was lodged up your ass the day you were born. I was a fucking penniless orphan while you were complaining about the smoked salmon and eating eggs-shitting-Benedict for breakfast every morning. The fact that you gave the money away doesn’t make you a fucking hero, it makes you a moron. What was the plan, Kankri? Where did you think you were going to live? How would you fucking feed yourself without other people to pick up your slack? You only don’t give a shit about money because you’ve always had it, whether you leeched it off your asshole father, or your poor saint of a brother.”

The shock on his face is turning into something darker, so I plough straight on. No arguing for you, asshole.

“I had nothing. I worked my ass off to get here, and I know Karkat has too. You’ve never worked a day in your stupid slacker life, and you’re such a colossal hypocrite I’m surprised you don’t implode under the weight of your own lies. I remember you, asshole. You might not remember meeting me when you were swanning around dressed as Jesus, but I remember how much you loved the glitz and glamour and attention. Don’t try and pretend you’re deeper than a fucking puddle, because I know you aren’t. The only reason you’re not out on your ass right now is because Karkat loves you. He loves you because he’s the most wonderful fucking person in the entire world, and if you think I don’t know that then you’re an even bigger moron than I thought.”

Leaving him open mouthed, I stride back to my bedroom. There will be only Karkat now, and no-one else until the morning. He’s dozing, still in starfish mode, when I enter the room. I gently kiss him awake, help him out of his clothes. He’s falling asleep, arms wrapped around me, but I can hear him mumbling something.

“S’our wedding night, Dave, m’sposed to fuck you till you can’t walk straight.”

Stroking his hair, I feel him drift off against my chest. Everything I care about in the world is in my arms right now, and that’s just the way it was meant to be. Sleep claims me more quickly than I thought it would, warm and inviting after an emotional day. I dream of Karkat, always Karkat. Running and laughing and kissing in a place I’ve never been, but that I know more intimately than my own apartment. It feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember a quote (I think by Neil Gaiman) about Charlie Brown; saying that it was cruel for Lucy to pull the football away every single time, but it would have been infinitely crueler to let him kick it once every few dozen tries. 
> 
> I always think of that dynamic typifying Dave and Bro's relationship, and here, Karkat and Kankri's. Karkat gets just enough from his brother to give him hope, but never enough to make him feel secure. It's the shittiest kind of relationship.
> 
> P.S. I hope you enjoy the suitably low-res picture of a cake I used. The things we do for art.


	29. The Killing Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh whaaaat...you thought I'd forgotten about this?? No way, bro. 
> 
> Is anyone still reading? Sorry about that hiatus, we're blasting through to the end now.
> 
> Where doing this, man. Where making this hapen.

“How?” I ask, nursing my morning coffee like a beloved relative. “How the hell are you not hung-over?” 

“Youth, old man.” Karkat sticks his tongue out at me, smirking as he munches on his cereal. 

From his yoga position, face-down and ass-up on my living room rug, Kankri sniggers. Vantases are traitorously cheerful morning people, apparently. I flip Karkat off when his brother isn’t looking, and lean against my fellow night-dweller, my truest companion in not getting up before the clock hits double figures. Rose, at least, has the decency to be hung over. She rests her head comfortably against my shoulder, heavy with fatigue. We’ve visited morning-after city together a hundred times before, but this trip seems to have taken a toll on her. She looks like death, and for once it isn’t just gothic makeup. I can empathise. 

Six in the morning feels like the unholy middle of the night, but there’s a private plane on standby at Betty Crocker International to take us all to our doom, and it’s probably a bad idea to keep your doom waiting. Especially when this particular doom rules the planet with a gaudy fist and has stated that her drones will drag us to D.C. feet-first if we try to wriggle out of it. 

Sexually compromising yoga positions aside, Kankri is acting suspiciously conciliatory in the aftermath of our midnight spat. He kisses Karkat on both cheeks as we leave the apartment, wishes him luck, and tells him that he loves him. Karkat grumbles at the unexpected attention, whilst simultaneously drinking it in like a man dying of thirst. The moment would be touching, if it weren’t for the look of pure disdain he gives me as I awkwardly shake his hand. Even so, there are tears in both sets of brown eyes as Karkat hugs him goodbye. None of us know whether we’ll be coming back alive, or if our corpses will be decorating the Washington Monument by the end of tomorrow. Forcing us to attend the celebration of a rigged election is either a trap or Crocker’s sick idea of a joke. 

Down in the lobby, Sollux and Feferi take turns to give Karkat bone-crushing hugs. Sollux doesn’t want to let go, and Karkat has to yell into his ear in order to free himself. Surprisingly, Sollux hugs me too, and we both clear our throats loudly to convey how non-emotional the whole thing is. I hope I live long enough to tease him about it. He takes the penthouse key wordlessly but snickers a little when I tell him to remember to walk Kankri regularly and rub his nose in it if he pisses on my rug. Karkat kicks me in the shin, and I’m hit with how much I’m going to miss this life, this ad-hoc little family we’ve built while everything else was being torn to pieces. It was probably too good to last. 

The airport is a ghost town, all of the other planes sitting abandoned on the apron. The fortress-like vehicle that Christian acquired with my unlimited credit card drives straight onto the runway tarmac, completely unmolested. According to his sources, there hasn’t been a flight from here in weeks, only red shuttles darting down from orbit to release cargoes of drones. No-one has anywhere left to go, and no reason to go there. The people we saw on the way were drifting silently along the sidewalks, their bodies as lost as their minds. Over the past few months, a solid half of the population have become rabid followers of the mirthful messiahs, and a further fifth have opened their mouths for a final time to welcome deliverance by guns or pills. These are the end times, and the human race has already punched its ticket out of existence. 

Finding a qualified, non-Juggalo pilot from the remaining, sane fraction had been expensive. Finding a team to re-fuel the jet and clear it for takeoff cost nearly double that amount. Crocker might have a fetish for wealth, but she has no fucking regard for my bank balance. Even though the situation is dire, the interior of Strider Force One never fails to impress. Karkat has flown on it before, for our trip to Hollywood, but Rose has never seen it. Up until now, she’s been too busy refusing to indulge my childish, extravagant side to take any pleasure trips. 

Plonking myself down onto a red leather couch, I watch her expression as she surveys the expanse of plush carpeting, the red and gold accents, the central pole and the full-sized mixing desk. Back when I was a young, insecure nihilist, I’d been determined that the party would never end as long as Dave Strider was at the decks. At one time, where the unnecessarily large coffee machine now sits, there was a bar that would make Tony Stark weep bitter, fictional tears of envy. 

Rose raises a single eyebrow, just enough that I can tell she’s impressed and disgusted in equal measure. We’ll be on board for just over an hour, not nearly enough to justify the expense of the plane, but it’s all about image. There might not be crowds of journalists waiting to pounce at the other end, but I have standards of irony to uphold, and spending a fortune to fly a few hundred miles when I could have my chauffer/bodyguard/friend drive us at a fraction of the cost is a good opportunity to show how minuscule a shit I give about practicalities. 

Watching the sun rise from our vantage-point above the clouds is strangely peaceful; sitting on my private plane, with the light painting Karkat’s face golden as he reads his trashy novel, I could almost believe that nothing is wrong with the world. That the conversation Rose and Christian are having about the fortifications to his back-country survival compound isn’t happening. That I can’t see the ear of a toy bunny sticking out from under a voluminous couch, left behind when the plane was used to transport his family to the relative safety of the Canadian wilderness. 

I retrieve it and hand it over, wincing as my back twinges, and Christian’s face lights up as he takes it. Apparently Sarah, his youngest, has been searching frantically for Mr Hoppy. I mentally vow to retain the pilot’s services to make one last trip before the plane is mothballed for good, to drop Christian off where he belongs. His family should at least have the chance to spend the apocalypse together. 

Bile rises in my throat as we touchdown in Washington, and I have to sprint for the bathroom before my breakfast makes an abstract addition to the plane’s décor. It turns out it’s a lot easier to avoid getting vomit all down your front when you aren’t steaming drunk, and nobody mentions the sounds coming from the bathroom when I re-join them. My stomach spasms painfully as I gulp down water, trying to flush the taste of acid from my mouth. _We’re going to die, she’s going to kill us all_ , I can’t keep the image of Karkat screaming in pain out of my mind, even as I grip his hand. I want to protect him, to protect Rose. I just hope I’ll be fast enough. 

A welcoming party is there to greet us as we step off the plane, ironic red carpet and all. We descend the stairs like the condemned. The carpet is lined with an honor-guard of Juggalos dressed in filthy suits, covered from head to toe in what looks like brightly-coloured paint. At the far end, dominating the view in a monolithic black suit, is the tallest fucker I have ever seen. 

He has to be over 6’6”, and his massive mane of hair adds another half a foot of height. He smiles wide enough to match his facepaint as we get closer, and I hear Karkat groan loudly, his grip on my hand tightening until I think I might need medical attention. His face is a frozen mask, and I can tell he’s fucking _terrified_. 

“What’s the problem, Karkat?” I whisper. I hate seeing him like this. 

Karkat just shakes his head, shrinking in on himself. He flinches when Rose puts her hand on his shoulder. 

The big, goofy grin on the face of our waiting escort makes my stomach lurch again, because it doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. Those are deep, dark, staring marbles. If cold, calculating insanity had a face, it would be the one currently fixed on Karkat as if he’s the only other person in the universe. 

“Hey there, Karbro." He drawls, "Long time no see.” 

I feel Karkat's shudder through my hand, and I know that I will watch this piece of filth die if it's the last thing I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New HC: Prospit dreamers are those assholes who are all perky in the morning. Dersites prefer a proper lie in.
> 
> Gamzee is like a one man EBDB in this fic


	30. The biggest of the big tops

I have no idea how long it takes for the limo to whisk us to the White House because I spend the entire journey watching Karkat. After the initial shock of being confronted by the man who tore his life up into tiny pieces (I pride myself on my ability to add up to four), his recovery is breathtaking. As the minutes pass, our guide rambles amiably about how his conversion to the Church saved his soul, and _like, he’d never go near that noxious shit again, brother, that shit rots your brain till you don’t even know who the fuck you are,_ and Karkat’s spine straightens as a fire builds behind his eyes. The tendons in his neck ripple as his jaw clenches so tightly it must be painful and I realize I’m going to have to get in line if I want to hand this piece of Juggalo trash his ass. I’ve never seen Karkat this angry, not even on the day I met him, and that was mere hours after Kankri phoned him from his jail cell. I can practically see the murder-fantasies playing out inside his head.

Eventually, I hear my name in the flow of burbling nonsense coming from across the limo, interrupting my study of Karkat’s building fury.

“Hey, Striderman, I realized I done forgot to introduce myself.”

I stare at him as he pauses. He snorts when he realizes he still fucking hasn’t.

“The name’s Gamzee Makara. I’ve heard a lot about you, buddy, I dunno if you had the same about my good self from Karbro. We were pretty damn tight, way back in the old days. Or one of us was, if I'm rememberin' rightly.”

He smiles like a shark and extends a hand for me to shake, which I answer with an uncomfortable finger-gun instead. I wouldn’t touch this creep for all the apple juice in the Western Hemisphere.

“I’m a pretty big deal, Makara.” I reply, “You’d have to live under a goddamned rock to _avoid_ hearing about me. And no, he’s told me absolutely zilcho about you.”

He laughs; a deep chuckle in the back of his throat.

“Nah, man. That ain’t what I meant. I used to date an old flame a’ yours. Sweet as a switchblade and dynamite in the sack, but she never stopped running her mouth about you. You broke my girl’s heart, bro.”

It takes a few seconds for me to process what he’s saying, to pick my way through his southern drawl and realize he’s talking about _Rezi_. I knew, in the back of my mind, that she’d dated some douchebag Juggalo after I pushed her away. There was even a slight _overlap_ if I recall correctly, and now my skin is trying to crawl away and I think I’m going to throw up again, preferably all over his shoes.

“You said ‘used to date’, asshole.” Karkat snaps, and I feel him squeeze my hand.

“She’s not your girl anymore, is she?” He continues, his voice dripping with scorn, “She obviously realized what a waste of space you are, and you should know by now that you don’t fucking own someone because they decide to pity-fuck you a few times.”

Karkat takes a deep breath, tempering his rage into something stronger, steelier.

“Neither of us gives two shits who or what you choose to stick your dick into, Makara. I’d appreciate it if you could do your fucking _job_ , and maybe pretend you have some semblance of professionalism in that lanky streak of piss you call a body. We’re here to see the Empress, not shoot the shit with a blissed-out, brainwashed fuckhead who doesn’t even have the decency to apologize for treating other people like dirt. Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry for being such a suppurating pile of abusive literal feces to you, Karkat, please allow me to penitently fellate your shoes until I am worthy of your attention,’ I suggest you keep them to yourself.”

This time, his laugh is rough and deafening in the confines of the limo. It’s the laugh of an insane person, of someone who’s gleefully shredded their own mind and watched the pieces dance away on the breeze. I’m suddenly aware of how thin his skin of laconic calm really is. If this is what the Condesce's bullshit does to people, even people who were once sweet and soft and caring, we are so _fucked._

__________

The roadways of Washington are littered with campaign posters, and the limo has to swerve repeatedly to avoid swarms of drunken Juggalos. As we approach the White House itself, it becomes apparent that the North Lawn has grown a crop of garish circus tents. I might be wearing a bright green suit with a pool-ball motif on the lapels (at Rose’s insistence, it's definitely my ugliest), but even for me, the car-crash of colors is a little over the top. Rounding the building’s East Wing, I notice that some enterprising souls have thoroughly TP’d the once-proud seat of our Nation’s government. Rose snorts with amusement, but there’s a frown on her face too. This feels deeply surreal, a little like passing through the cinema screen into one of my movies. It’s less fun than I imagined.

Once inside, we’re ushered into a room full of nervous reporters in smart suits and hastily-done clown paint. A sad collection of other celebrities have been press-ganged into attending, and I spot Ben and Owen on the other side of the room, chatting uncomfortably with a paralytic Matt McConaughey. Reporters aside, the only non-celebrities in the room are Karkat and Makara, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Karkat get subsumed by the throng. Two enormous screens are blaring coverage of the final vote outcomes, but although there are two candidates, they’re on the same goddamn ticket. The election has only one possible outcome, and everyone else in the room is either dead-drunk or on the way there. I’m so, so incredibly tempted to join them. Rose has a martini glass in her hand already, and I can feel Karkat’s eyes on me, watching in case my resolve weakens.

“I won’t,” I mutter softly, “I’m no use to anyone if I’m hammered, Karkat.”

The fear that this is a death-trap is slowly receding in the presence of all of these famous faces. Killing me and Rose here would be an unpopular move, and even a species that has been brought to its knees can still do some damage if it’s pushed too far.

“I’d still love you if you did,” he sighs, “The world’s fucked, you might as well be too. Personally, I’m going to get trashed.”

A burst of laughter wells up in my chest, carrying me back to when I sent those exact words to Rose. Fuck, I’m so glad I found him. I could have missed out on him so easily; two unlikely ships passing in broad daylight.

“I’ll be fine,” I smile as I kiss the top of his head, breathing in coconut shampoo. “I’ve got you man, I don’t need booze.”

“You are the biggest cornball in existence.”

He grins as he fetches a beer for himself and some Tab for me. This chemical shit is nasty, but it’s better than the Faygo that the greasepainted crowd is slurping.

The evening is tense and boring at the same time, but eventually, Gamzee yells at us to pay attention, because _HER RIGHTEOUS BITCHTITTY FISHQUEEN IS ALL UP AND ON THE WAY, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!_. My blood freezes in my veins. I want to grab the beer out of Karkat’s hand like a lifeline. She’s here, _she’s coming for us_ and I’m not fucking ready. The doors slam back to accommodate her honor-guard of hulking monsters.

Makara throws back his head and roars, a cry of “MOTHERFUCKING KNEEL!” that sets my ears ringing.

Her Imperious Condescension has to duck to get her horns beneath the lintel of the door, but no-one would ever dare mention it. A miasma of hair-tendrils follows her, filling the space that isn’t occupied by kneeling sycophants. Rose, Karkat and I are the only ones still standing. I lock my knees to keep from crumpling to the floor because her presence is enough to flatten anyone’s resolve. When she looks into my eyes, fuchsia meeting red across the presidential carpeting, I can see the hate burning in her soul.

She smiles with a thousand pointed teeth, and her smile goes on forever.

It’s time to inaugurate the first dual Presidents of the USA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm British, y'all. All knowledge of US politics/buildings comes from Wikipedia or House of Cards.  
> Sorry for any gross inaccuracies.


	31. A new Dark Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For then mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones, free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and revelling in joy. Then the liberated Old Ones would teach them new ways to shout and kill and revel and enjoy themselves, and all the Earth would flame with a holocaust of ecstasy and freedom._  
>  \- H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks, I'm currently occupied trying to slide down a very large mountain on two pieces of plastic without dying in the process. 
> 
> Here's a nice long chapter to make up for it :)

The Empress of Earth is clearly unimpressed by our lack of deference because the next thing I feel is the smack of a juggling club hitting the backs of my knees. Pain flares in both legs as I collapse, and Rose and Karkat drop reflexively into the same kneeling position before they receive the same treatment. I’m proud that I didn’t cry out. Other than that, it’s fucking humiliating. 

“No hard feelin’s Striderbro, but you gotta show the lady some motherfucking respect,” Makara drawls, hefting his club as if it’s filled with feathers. 

My throbbing knees are a testament to the fact that it isn’t. The next time he raises a weapon in my presence, he’s a dead man. Surprisingly, nobody confiscated the wakizashi strapped to my waist, and only the risk of immediate execution is keeping it from finding a nice warm home in his chest. I suppose it’s meant to highlight my impotence, but having a sword is still reassuring. 

Then next few hours are pretty damn memorable. Our sad party of celebrities is ushered into the Oval Office, where Lord High Chaplain Fieri is waiting, dressed in an outfit that looks as if the Pope threw up on a wizard. In any other context, I’d be all over it. In a normal, sane world, it would take some serious stones to pull off a two-foot tall mitre covered in rainbow-colored stars, not to mention the fuchsia velvet robe with its silver and gold accents. If Kanaya was here, I think she’d probably pass out in horror at the clash of fabrics and colors. As it is, at the very heart of the United States of America, the outfit is being worn by someone swearing in a pair of drunken idiots in Juggalo makeup as Presidents of the USA. In that context, he ludicrous pomposity of the robes is suddenly a lot less amusing. If possible, the whole charade becomes even more humorless when Presidents J and Dope shake bottles of Faygo and spray the entire room with purple liquid. 

When all three morons decide to drop their pants for some godforsaken purpose, I have to get out. It’s all too much. I want to drag Karkat with me, but he’s acting as Rose’s leaning-post as she surveys the scene with vacant eyes. The hand that isn’t holding her fifth martini of the afternoon is tangled tightly in his, and I’m not about to take away her only source of comfort. Against all odds, no-one is watching the door, so I sidle toward it as unobtrusively as possible. Makara is meant to be guarding it, but he has the glazed look of someone watching their dreams come true in front of them, as if he found a magical gateway to Hendrix playing Woodstock in his sock drawer. Slipping past him into the blessedly Faygo-free air of the corridor is easy. Hell, I could have probably given the guy an atomic wedgie on the way past, and it wouldn’t have dented his beatific grin in the slightest. 

Once out of the room, away from the jubilant whooping of the idiots who now supposedly run the country, I can finally think straight again. This is either a big joke or a cruel trick, because otherwise it makes no fucking sense to put two brainless shitheads in charge of one of the most powerful nations on Earth. Through the window to my left, I can see clowns getting shitfaced on vodka and Faygo, laughing as they beat each other senseless with clubs in the sunset's glow. 

That’s when it finally hits me, the realization that it’s _over_ , that humanity is fucking _done_. We might as well pack away irony and science and art in metaphorical bubble-wrap, and leave them somewhere obvious for the next dominant species. The tsunami of madness will begin here, in America's capital, but it’s going to spread until it consumes the entire Earth. I don’t need to be Rose to see the future, because our species has done this to itself a dozen times before. First will come widespread riots, then martial law. Eventually, the elements of society who are deemed too problematic will be herded into death camps, and I have no doubt that insane rulers endowed with alien technology will be able to refine genocide to new levels of efficiency. Humanity is going to die screaming, and its corpse won’t stop thrashing until every single cell has been ripped apart. 

Suddenly, the corridor is spinning and I’m on my fucking knees, breathing in the smell of the carpet like a child. My brain won’t stop, won’t let up, it keeps feeding me the names of the condemned; _Christian, his wife his kids, Porrim, her husband and her unborn daughter, Sollux and Fef, Kanaya, Rose, Karkat …_

They’re all going to die. 

If we don’t stop her, they’re all going to die _soon_. 

Dragging myself to my feet takes a supreme effort, because I’m tired, goddamn it. I’m tired of all of this, of pretending to play nice with the destroyer of worlds so that she can have a laugh at my expense. As I reach the door it slams back, propelled by the weight of a Juggalo built like a lazy tangle of steel cables. Makara doesn’t even flinch as my fist slams straight into his smiling face, even though I hear the crunch of his nose breaking. Instead, he lets out a bubbling laugh and grabs my arm with a hand like a vice. I can’t suppress a shudder as he mumbles something indistinct through the rivulets of blood running down his face. 

“Th’mbress requests your botherfucking bresance, brother.” 

His serene tone sets my teeth on edge, as does the way he’s _still fucking smiling_. My jangling nerves turn out to be a godsend when I sense movement behind me and duck a fraction of a second before a juggling club goes sailing in a graceful arc over my head. Were it not for the sight that greets me as I enter the re-enter the Oval Office, I would have taken his head off with my sword. As it is, the blade lies still in my hand as I take in the sight of the Condesce reclining on the polished surface of the Resolute Desk. The room is otherwise empty; the crowd has been ushered off god-knows-where, and I kick myself for letting Rose and Karkat out of my sight. I force my brain not to think about what could be happening to them right now, because it’s not going to help. Even if she hasn’t harmed them, this is still the best chance I’m going to get to kill her, to stop the madness once and for all. 

My sword comes alive as I cross the distance between us, a flashing line of light aimed straight at her heart. I can feel time turning soft around the edges as I leap at her, the fringes of my vision turning red, but it isn’t enough. I’m not fast enough. I’m barely halfway across the carpet before my muscles scream in agony as I’m forced to freeze in place. The sheer inertia of my attack should send me head over heels, but there’s something invisible holding tight to every part of me. Even though I can still breathe, the paralysis is suffocating. 

She smiles as she swings her long legs to the floor, hips and hair swaying as she takes tiny, deliberate steps toward me. The position I’m trapped in is uncomfortable, my sword raised in a killing strike, and my body twitches with the effort of staying upright even though I know I won’t fall. I can’t stop myself, my centre of balance is off; I’ll topple forward as soon as she releases me from whatever freaky mind powers she’s using. Crocker can see how hard I’m fighting to get free, but she shows no sign that trapping me requires any more effort than flicking a stray tendril of hair out of her eyes. 

“Hello, Swordfish,” she purrs, as she reaches me, “It looks like you’re more of a catch than I thought. Those time powers are a surprise, but it won’t make a difference for you. You’re finished, you and your whole school of minnows.” 

I can’t help but wince as she stresses the ‘fin’ in finished. Being at the mercy of someone who communicates through fish puns is fucking demeaning. That razor smile is awfully close to my face now, and I shudder as an unseen claw runs up my throat, catching on my Adam’s apple. She traces the line of my jaw almost tenderly, but the pain and the warm wetness dripping down my neck let me know that she’s drawn blood. The claws must be as sharp as the teeth that are inches from my nose. Up close, she’s even more alien than I expected; grey-black skin with a slimy sheen, vivid pink eyes with yellow sclera and two-foot long horns. She’s at least 7 feet tall even without them; she has to bend at the waist just to look me in the eyes. She looks amused, almost playful. I want to tear her apart. 

“I’m not gonna cull you, little kismesis,” She continues, “even though you deserve it a hull of a lot more than you deserve to be called that. You mean absealutely nofin to me, but you’re still more interesting than the rest of your speseas.” 

She punctuates the word “nofin” with a condescending bop on the nose using her index finger. 

“By the time I do cull you, you’ll reely hate me, deep as pitch, I want to make shore of that. But that’ll be a long time from now, when I’m good and ready…when you get boring. Before that, I’m gonna make you watch.” 

The Condesce leans closer, so that all I can see is her face and the hate-fuelled lanterns of her eyes. 

“As a reward for every time you’ve made my life difficult with your inane media flotsam, you’re gonna have a front row sea-t to watch me destroy everything you love. I’ll take them one by one, until you have nofin left. The dumb roommates, the bitch author, your fragile little matesprit. All gone, all because I wanna watch you squirm. ” 

She laughs at the shock showing plainly on my face. Using every muscle I can still move, I attempt to reply. Speaking hurts like a bitch. 

“What…the fuck…is wrong with you? You’re…doing all…of this…to fuck…with _me_? 

The laugh is more of a cackle, this time, almost supervillainesque. 

“What are you, stupid or somefin? I thought you were smarter than that, Strider. I’m doing all of this because it’s _fun_.” 

With that, she leans in and presses her cold lips against mine; forcing a tongue that tastes of brackish seawater half down my throat. I gag and choke at the same time, repulsed by the sensation of slimy lips sliding on my own, by the sea-slug trying to worm its way into my stomach. Instinctively, I bite down, _hard_ , but she just laughs again as freezing, salty blood fills my mouth. As my vision starts to prickle at the edges, I wonder if I’m going to die here, choked to death by the grossest French-kiss in history. 

Just as I’m about to pass out, I’m granted a reprieve by the sound of a door slamming open. It’s not the one Makara is still guarding, but the odd, curved one that serves as the President’s emergency exit. The tongue withdraws as the Condesce looks at the source of the sound, and I can finally fucking breathe again. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of the familiar non-light bestowed by Rose’s mysterious benefactors; light and darkness rolled into one. A bolt of it lashes at the Batterwitch’s face, grounding on the gaudy tiara at her brow, and she _screams_. Another tendril arcs directly into her eyes, which would probably have blinded me if not for my protective shades. As it is, my vision is consumed by blooming afterimages, meaning that I effectively cannot see for shit. Dimly, above the noise of Crocker’s agonised swearing, I feel her psychic control loosen, and warm hands catch me as I fall. A blur that I identify as Rose drags me to my feet as the Condesce starts feeling blindly for her double-ended trident, and pulls us both to one side as a juggling club comes whistling past my head. I can see well enough to watch with great satisfaction as Karkat, who managed to get behind Makara while he was distracted, hooks a foot upward squarely into his groin. The clown folds like weak poker hand. 

Our flight through the White House is a blur of drunken, revelling Juggalos, who are too busy tearing the place apart to pay attention to us. There are shouts of rage behind us, but Rose leads us on a twisting path through backrooms and side-offices until they’re a muffled clangour in the distance. In the end, we hop out of the first window that opens, and sprint for the row of parked cars lined up on the driveway. The third one we try is unlocked, its keys hidden above the sun-visor, and Karkat slips it into gear, gunning the gas to get us away from this place, once and for all. In the back of my mind I can hear him cursing about having to drive stick, but for the most part, my attention is focused on the bottle of whiskey in my hand. We must have passed through the reception room on our way out, and my eyes and hand co-ordinated to act on alcoholic instinct. 

My hand does so again when it uncaps the bottle and pours a torrent of fire down my throat, and I let it. Five years of sobriety mean fuck-all when the world is ending. The whiskey washes away the taste of the ocean, the taste of _her_. 

Maybe if I drink enough, it’ll wash today away forever.


	32. The morning after the night before

Karkat’s lips move in time with my own, soft and gentle. He’s hesitant, uncertain, and I have no idea why. His hands sit awkwardly in the crook of my back, edging cautiously downward as he makes choked little sounds into my mouth. Snorting with laughter, I grab one and place it on my ass, where I know it belongs. He laughs too, pulling back to study my satisfied face, and I freeze. 

His skin is grey. 

Instead of dark brown eyes, grey irises stare back at me from orange sclera _just like hers _.__

 _ _ _He’s frowning at me, mouth opening to say something I can’t hear, and his mouth is night-black between rows of pointed teeth. The hand not currently cupping a handful of Dave scratches at something half hidden in his hair and I feel myself screaming silently as I realize it’s a horn.___

 _ _ _Karkat’s hurt expression follows me as my consciousness descends into darkness and head-splitting agony.___

 _ _

Oh god. 

Evidently I failed in my mission to erase yesterday’s events from my brain, but I do seem to have taken a rusty cheese grater to the surface of my cerebral cortex. The hangover hurts like a hammer-blow to the head, like I pissed off a particularly determined woodpecker that decided it could get through a human skull given enough time. This, I remind myself, is one-half of the reason I quit drinking in the first place. The other half is what I do when I let alcohol have the reins. 

Carefully, trying not to disturb Karkat as I down the thoughtfully placed glass of water on my nightstand, I examine his face. He looks dead to the world, grey eyes closed against the early-morning light as he snores gently into his pillow. Except…Karkat’s eyes are brown, not grey. For a second I feel disorientated, like the world I woke up to isn’t the one I expected. It’s fucking weird, and it does nothing to help the way my stomach is roiling. 

Groaning quietly at the sensation of my brain sloshing around in my head, I lie back and try to recall what happened after I started drinking. Everything before that is irritatingly clear, because it’s apparently too much to ask that I forget the sensation of having my uvula fondled by the Condesce’s mouth tentacle and my dignity crushed beneath her bedazzled stripper-heels. 

The ride to the airport had been an experience, as Karkat, screaming at the top of his lungs, had swerved to avoid the swarms of Juggalos overtaking the capital. His cries had been drowned out by the orgy of destruction, lost among the screams and alarms and insane laughter. Through the tinted windows of the staff car, I saw a crowd of painted lunatics drag a family out onto their front-lawn and begin beating them with their own uprooted mailbox. After that, Karkat had gritted his teeth and stopped trying to dodge them. I’d gulped down as much scotch as I physically could, trying to forget the sight of blood. 

We’d pulled onto the tarmac going way too fast, Karkat’s adrenaline sending him to racing toward the waiting jet even as Rose tried as calmly as she could to soothe him into slowing down. He’d swerved to a stop a few feet from the plane’s landing-gear, spilling the contents of my bottle all over my ruined suit. I was about a third of the way through it, which was nothing on what I used to manage of a Saturday night. It was a new record for a thirty-minute car ride, however, and my mind had started to descend into the calm, warm waters of drunkenness. It had felt fantastic. 

Through a pink haze, I remember Rose grabbing the bottle, swigging from it, and flinging it in a shining arc of glass and liquid across the tarmac. It made a very pleasing noise as it smashed into a million shards. After I shakily saluted the bottle's brave sacrifice, Karkat had led me gently up the stairs and into the leather and shagpile womb of the jet. Everything after that is vague; bubbles of noise and colour that don’t make a whole heap of sense. 

My attempts to remember what exactly I did after that are rudely interrupted by the sensation of bile rising in my throat. Running for the en-suite doesn’t help with my 2x headache and nausea combo, nor does collapsing heavily to my knees in front of the toilet. I lose the contents of my stomach with a deep groan, along with what feels like most of my small intestine and possibly my kidneys. The burn of bile informs me in no uncertain terms that my liver wants me dead. It wants my body for itself. I’m going to be the first man to be murdered by a liver when it when it pulverizes my brain with a toilet brush in an ill-advised revenge scheme. 

Eugh. I need water. I need to drink the entire Hudson River. 

On second thought, I’m not that desperate. It probably tastes of New Jersey. 

I manage to crawl my way back into bed, shaking Karkat gently awake because I’m an asshole who feels like death. 

“Karkat, I’m sick. It hurts.” 

He rolls over, sighing deeply as he takes in my pleading expression and the attractive sheen of sweat on my forehead. As he looks into my eyes, I’m hit with two conflicting sets of memories. 

_Karkat’s face dripping with red tears, tear-tracks standing out on grey skin._

_Karkat crying as he pushes me away, his brown eyes filled with pain_. 

“What hurts, Dave? It’s six am. Why are you awake at six am?” 

I must have done something. I must have hurt him somehow. Oh shit. 

“Dave?” 

“Whatdidido?” 

It all comes out in a blast of frantic sound. Karkat looks at me as if I’ve gone crazy. 

“What? Talk slower, Dave. It's early.” 

“What. Did. I. Do. Last. Night?” 

It almost hurts to speak slowly enough for him to understand, because my lungs are burning worse than my stomach. I’ve done so many stupid, hurtful things when I’ve been drunk. Rose has borne the fallout of my ruined relationships and shattered friendships gracefully, but I think I’ve been close to losing her in the past. I can’t lose Karkat. 

His arms are around me, soothing away the panic, before he even begins to answer. I try and breathe with him. It doesn’t matter, then. Whatever I did, it can’t be that bad if he’s happy to let me this close to his heart. 

“You didn’t do anything, moron. Dave, look at me.” 

“I was…upset…because Kankri left without saying goodbye, OK? When you saw me crying you got me in a death-grip with some kind of drunk-strength and wouldn’t let go. He left me a note saying he’d gone off to find his soulmate before it was too late, and I was pissed and sad and I wanted to give him piece of my goddamn mind but he didn’t even leave a phone number. It was a shitty thing to do, especially to Sollux who thought I’d never fucking forgive him, but…I can’t actually blame him.” 

Karkat’s hand finds mine beneath the covers and holds it tightly. 

“He’s a selfish prick, but at least he’s actually _learned_ something after all that time lecturing other people about how to live their lives. Namely, that it’s better to be fucking happy if you have the chance. I know it’s our influence, because he spent two paragraphs explaining his motivation for leaving and it didn’t come up once.” 

I snort into his shoulder, pulling him closer. I can’t help but worry that I’ve dragged him into harm’s way, that I’ve ruined his life. I mumble it softly, half-hoping he won’t hear. 

“Are you happy, Karkat? Sometimes I think you’d be a damn sight better off if you’d never met me.” 

He shrugs. 

“I don’t give a shit about that,” he peels me off him so he can look into my eyes, “I am happy. I never thought I would be, but I am.” 

I can tell he means it, and I can’t help but kiss him. Even after everything that’s happened, I’m happy too. It’s warm and soft and so different from what _she_ did to me that I can feel the tension melt away. I’ll trust Karkat as long as I live. 

He wrinkles his gorgeous button nose as he pulls away, and I realize I should probably have cleaned my teeth. 

“You taste disgusting, Strider.” 

I don’t care. I’m going to curl myself around him until it’s actually light outside. Karkat grumbles, but he doesn’t take long to relax against me.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK folks lets end this fic. Here's the structure of what we have left to cover:
> 
> Next chapter: Timeslips and buildup  
> Penultimate chapter: Provocation and executions  
> Final chapter: Collapse the waveforms  
> Epilogue
> 
> They are all likely to be long and I want to get it done before 4/13 so let's do this thing yo


	33. Where should I leave this big bag of exposition?

The world crumbles slowly, from the edges inward. 

We sit squarely at the centre, watching from our fortified apartment building as it falls apart. 

Winter in the city is rough as people scrap in the streets for provisions, tearing each other to bits over tins of beans even as my final movie hits the screens. It’s a transparent, Condesce-sponsored attempt to keep the populace docile, but it works better than she could have hoped. People drift into the cinemas to watch the most daring piece of Batterwitch-bashing ever put to film. It’s too late, of course. The irony may have turned sour, but the fans still seem to appreciate the absurdist humor. I get the feeling that most people are happy just to lose themselves in a fantasy world for a few hours. 

It’s a smash hit, but the consequences are unexpected. We watch TV, munching guiltily through our supplies as Ben Stiller uses his fame to speak out against the Condesce. He doesn’t call me first. If he had, I would have warned him not to throw his life away. It hurts to watch him struggle; strung up high on the Washington Monument, but I can’t stop watching. I’m responsible for his fame, his hubris, for filling his head with the idea that we could bring her down. Karkat and Rose hold my hands as he dies. I don’t cry. I’m not sure why I can’t. When the screams begin down below as Fieri’s people start rounding up dissenters, the brave and the foolish who try and stand against the inevitable, we close the blinds. I think often of Christian’s family, tucked away in the wilds of Canada. I hope they’re safe. Our self-preservation feels shameful, dirty, and it’s what finally breaks poor, sweet, kind Feferi. All she ever wanted was to help people, and now she has to listen to them suffer. She spends days crying softly into Sollux’s shoulder, unable to stop. When she finally does, she moves like a ghost. 

The automated security systems knock out most of the drones that Crocker throws our way, and I take down the rest. They’re a welcome distraction, falling easily beneath my blade. I imagine every single one has her face. 

There are bright spots among the horror, thrown into sharp contrast like black and white paint. Rose sits down next to me on our washed out imitation of Christmas morning and asks me to help her get sober. I’ve never asked where she keeps her booze, but there was a martini constantly in her hand during the past few months. I help her through the withdrawal, the shakes and the depression, and she comes out stronger and fiercer than ever. She’s the girl I remember from my teenage summers again, the one who painted her nails black and shaved half of her head and didn’t take shit from anyone, but she’s fully grown, stronger. She’s Rose Lalonde again, and the weeping shadow she became is washed away. 

We train on the roof or in my former darkroom, chemicals stored away in a corner so that we don’t trip over them. Without alcohol in her system, Rose gains more and more control over her netherworldly powers. The roof’s lightning conductor endures repeated blasts of dark energy before finally toppling like a fallen tree. Her titanium needles are deadly enough to pierce bone, carapace or metal. I learn to dodge her strikes so swiftly that the world turns to treacle, birds swimming through the air at quarter-speed as I duck and weave. It’s bizarre, surreal, but it feels strangely natural to wrap the flow of time around my little finger. The Condesce and her minions won’t even see us coming. My gut clenches with fear and hope; I’m terrified of letting myself believe we might actually stand a chance against her. 

Karkat remains strong throughout everything, somehow making sure we don’t all go insane. He badgers and fusses; making sure Sollux takes his medication and Feferi remembers to eat and I don’t spend too long staring morbidly into space. We’re drifting, waiting, aware of the deadline in Rose’s visions approaching like a jagged rock beneath the surface of the future. Nobody else knows, and the burden is almost unbearable. He bustles around putting on movies or giving Sollux coding projects, asking Rose to knit him things or taking Feferi up to the roof to feed the pigeons. He sits me down with a video camera to record some logs for posterity, knowing that I’ll happily ramble for hours about myself. I don’t know how he does it. When we curl up to sleep I hold him tightly, feeling the tension under his calm exterior. I do my best to soothe it away, because he’s too busy taking care of everyone else to take care of himself. 

I bury myself in Karkat, losing myself during our time together because that time is so goddamned _short_. He’s warm and soft; skin like morning coffee and a soul of like an angry little angel. Kissing him takes the pain away, feeling him inside me as he clings to me like he’s never going to let go washes away everything else. We fuck each other quietly, softly; hard and sweet and every other way we can, sometimes with tears in our eyes. I tell him that I love him over and over, as if I don’t know how to stop. There’s so much that we never had the chance to do together, but when he’s lying in my arms with his face pressed against my chest, listening to my heartbeat like it’s the most important thing in the universe, it doesn’t matter. 

“I love you, man.” I whisper, and he kisses the spot directly over my heart. 

“I love you too, Dave.” 

I bury my face in his hair so he can’t see me tearing up like a fucking schoolgirl. 

One morning in mid-February, the tap water turns to grape Faygo, surprising an extremely pissed off Sollux in the middle of a shower. Even though it’s bad news for everyone, it’s still fucking hilarious to watch him drag himself out of the bathroom, dripping and sticky and broadcasting his distaste at the top of his lungs. I snap a photo with my phone and he chases me around the apartment, ditching his towel in a futile effort to catch me. Obviously, he can’t (time powers for the win), and Feferi and Karkat have to drag him into the guest room to find some clothes and get some oxygen into his enraged lungs. Karkat manages to calm him down eventually, but I get a ringing smack upside the head next time I’m within range. It’s worth it. 

An enormous swarm of Drones descends to drag me to the Oscars, but they’re mincemeat by the time they hit the concrete of the roof. The defences do their job, but it drains our supply of bullets. We cheer as Donald Glover picks up his Oscar; Geromy underwent a transcendental character arc in the final movie and Donald deserves every ounce of recognition he can get. His speech is a beautiful, subversive piece of nostalgia for Hollywood-that-was, just a few short months ago when the world seemed moderately sane. I hope it won’t get him killed. 

I finally break down when I get a letter from Owen telling me he’s dead. Owen heads off into obscurity, and I wish him well for it. He'll be safer out of my doomed sphere of influence. I don’t get out of bed for days. 

We have so little ammunition left that Rose and I start sleeping in shifts, only seeing each other in the mornings or evenings. Sollux spends seventy-six hours awake, trying to refine the targeting algorithms so that they can calculate the probability of a kill-shot to the nth degree before firing. It works OK, but he takes out a few pigeons during testing and makes us promise (unnecessarily) not to tell Feferi. 

Our deadline is approaching rapidly (as it draws closer, even I can feel the death throes of my own personal timeline somewhere ahead of me. Feeling your own death barrelling toward you is weird as fuck), when we get the message we’ve all been waiting for. I hold Rose tightly as we read the telegram, delivered through the dead-letter inbox Sollux set up in case of emergencies. 

GA: Porrim Has Greeted Our New Arrival.  
GA: Her Name Is Roxy Priatt-Maryam.  
GA: I Wish You Could See Her, She Is Very Beautiful.  
GA: In Fact, She Is Perfect, Just Like Her Aunt Rose.  
GA: She Is Also Very Loud.  
GA: I Assume She Gets This From Her Uncle David.  
GA: Either Way, She Will Hear All About Both Of You For As Long As I Am There To Protect Her.  
GA: Every Day. I Promise.  
GA: As Well As Her Other Family That I Have Never Met, But Who Have Done So Much For Us.   
GA: I Must Thank You For That, Especially Sollux.  
GA: We Must Travel Out Of Signal Range Now, So That We Will Not Be Found. It Is Much Harder To Hide Roxy Now That She Can Make Her Presence Known.  
GA: I Dont Think Ill Be Able To Contact You Again, Im Afraid.  
GA: I Will Carry You With Me Forever, My Darlings.  
GA: Rose…Dear One. I Will Always Love You.  
GA: I Will See You On The Other Side. Wait For Me, My Love.  
GA: <3  


We drink the last of the fizzy apple juice in celebration, toasting Porrim and Kanaya and Roxy, and making sure that someone is always talking to Rose. Tears brim in her eyes, but she smiles all evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one down three to go


	34. Three beheadings and no funerals

The date is April 13th, 2025. 

“It’s today.” I mumble, nuzzling into Karkat’s neck. 

The bed is warm and soft and so is Karkat, until he catches the meaning behind my words. Then he stiffens. 

“Shit. Are you sure?” 

“Mmhmm…dead sure, if you’ll excuse the pun. M’sorry.” 

It’s my last day to live. I didn’t know it last night, but when I woke up this morning to take a piss, suddenly I knew. The end of the timeline lies ahead like a broken railway bridge, and not even getting up to 88mph will save me. I’m out of time. I’ve been memorizing the curve of Karkat’s sleeping face ever since. He’s so fucking beautiful that it’s breaking my heart. 

He pulls me in close, holds me like a vice. I can’t breathe, but somehow I don’t think I’m destined to be asphyxiated by my own husband. The sun is up before he lets me go; both of our faces sore from kisses and tears. It’s time to set our plan in motion, for better or worse. 

Rose is sipping coffee in the living room, steely and elegant in the morning light. Her needles are gripped tightly in one hand and she gives me a fixed, forced smile as Karkat and I join her. He gives her a hug, drawing her into his bubble of concerned softness. I can almost see her relaxing into him, letting go. I take her hand, squeezing gently. She squeezes back. We’re going to die, but at least we’re going to die together. 

We gather our equipment in silence while Karkat cooks enough pancakes to feed an army. The smell is enough to draw Fef and Sol out, even though I know full well that Sollux was up until the early hours trying to crack the Battleship Condescension’s networks to give us some idea of her movements. The best he could do was somewhere in the north-eastern United States. He looks like shit, but it’s nice to see him before we leave. Watching Feferi re-direct the stream of honey he’s pouring onto the table toward his plate is pretty freaking cute. I’m glad Karkat will have them to take care of him when I’m gone. 

It’s a bizarre caricature of a family breakfast, but munching pancakes with everyone is the perfect start to our last day together. I’m a sappy sack of shit, so sue me. I give Karkat the stickiest kiss on the cheek by way of thanks, and fall in love with him all over again when he sticks his tongue out and angrily wipes it away. 

\-------------------------- 

“So, you know the plan, right?” 

“Yes, Strider, I know the fucking plan. We’ve been over this a hundred times already.” 

“OK, Hot Shot. What is it, then? And it's Strider-Vantas, in case you've forgotten." 

Karkat rolls his eyes, obviously sick of my badgering. I just need to hear it, one last time. Just to make sure he knows what to do. He won’t look at me as he churns it out on autopilot. 

“You and Lalonde go off on your goddamned suicide mission…and we pack up as much shit as will fit into the truck, take all of the fuel reserves and get the fuck out of here. Drive north-west and don’t look back, don’t stop until we find somewhere so remote that no-one would ever bother to look for us. Hide like a coward until a bear or some shit eats me because I’ve lived in cities my entire life and have no survival skills whatsoever.” He sighs deeply, scratching at the back of his neck, “does that about cover it?” 

Yeah, it does. It’s not much of a plan, but it’s all we’ve got. It’ll have to do. 

“That’s right, sweet stuff. You’ll be fine. If you can handle manic Sollux, the bears will be a piece of cake.” 

He’s trying, I can tell he is, but his hands have curled into fists and his breathing is turning ragged. 

“This isn’t fucking fair, Dave, it’s not! Why do you have to go and be a fucking hero? You could just come with us and leave your martyr complex unsatisfied; we can hide where she can’t find us, at least for a while.” 

The fire in Karkat’s words dies as he finishes speaking because he knows I can’t go with him. It’s so incredibly tempting, but I know what I have to do. I uncurl one of his fists so that I can hold his hand, and tilt his chin up so he has to look me in the eyes. 

“Kat, I love you, but you know we’re the only ones with a chance of stopping her. I mean, I don’t see anyone else around here with supernatural powers and bitchin’ sword skills.” 

I put on my best obnoxious grin, and he can’t help but mirror it. I’m a charming son of a bitch, and I know it. 

“Seriously, though, the Batterwitch doesn’t give a single minuscule shit about humanity, and the idiots in charge are wholesale murdering millions of people for fun. We’ve gotta stop them, man. I can’t just let all those innocent people keep suffering, and I know you don’t want me to.” 

Karkat nods, choking back tears. 

I kiss him on the forehead, once on each cheek, and he draws me downward to meet his lips. It’s a kiss of desperation and need, but loving and deep and so _Karkat_ it hurts. His arms press into my back and mine squeeze him tightly, holding onto him like a life-preserver. I never want to let him go. Eventually, though, he taps me on the back to let me know I should. 

Saying goodbye hurts like a knife in the gut. I look him in his big, beautiful eyes as I do it because I know I’ll never get the chance to again. 

“I know we haven’t had very long, but I want you to know that I’ve lived more in the last eight months than in all of the years before we met put together. Like, you made me want to be alive again, and I can never thank you enough for that.” 

I stall, feeling tears prickling in my eyes. “So, anyway…bye, Karkat. I love you.” 

“I love you too, you stupid heroic jerk,” he replies, his face screwed up with the effort of holding back tears of his own. “I love you so goddamn much. Make them wish they’d never been born.” 

“Will do, babe.” 

I kiss him one last time, and then I have to go because I’ll never leave if I don’t. I can feel his gaze burning into my back as I walk away, but I don’t look back. Instead, I place my shades over my eyes and feel cold determination settle over the rest of me. It’s time to be every hero in every action movie that’s ever existed, and get ready to kick ass and chew bubblegum. Thankfully, there's a fresh pack of Appleberry Blast Hubba Bubba in my pocket. Never let it be said the Dave Strider is unprepared for action. 

\------------------------------------------- 

Rose is standing on the building’s polished steps when I make my way outside, tossing and catching her car keys as she stares at the storm clouds overhead. The wind whips at her velvet skirt, golden tassels thrashing like twin snakes behind her. 

“Appropriate weather for the end, don’t you think? Very poetic.” 

“Is that why you’re dressed like one of your angsty goth wizards? I always knew you were a closet cosplayer, Lalonde.” 

She smirks at me, surveying the outfit I’ve chosen as my last. 

“At least I’m not dressed as my teenage self, David. The psychological implications of that are staggering.” 

Ancient jeans and my favourite old T-shirt are hardly formal attire for my date with death, but I want to die as myself, not as some fake Hollywood idol. The glitched-up skateboard under one arm probably isn’t helping to make me look like less of an overgrown teenager, however. At least the Katana strapped to my hip looks badass. 

“Shall we?” 

I take Rose’s hand in mine as we walk toward our respective cars, feeling the first drops of rain hit my shoulders. When we arrive at the sidewalk, we turn and face one another. I feel my stomach clench because this goodbye is going to be almost as hard as Karkat’s. Fortunately, Rose is a class act. She stands on tiptoe and kisses my cheek, whispering into my ear as she does so. 

“Goodbye Dave. I love you.” 

“Love you, too.” I croak. It’s all I can manage. 

She smiles as she turns away, squeezing my hand once before she lets go of it forever. 

\------------------------------------------- 

Rain pummels the windscreen, making it difficult to see the road as I drive north. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I know the tears are there, but I’m not acknowledging them. If I do, I’ll lose my resolve. Fortunately, the roads have been deserted since the fuel ran out a few months ago. The “faithful” still have access to supplies, to food and gas and enough bullets for what they consider a really good time, but everyone else has been abandoned to fend for themselves. A few feral-looking strangers try and flag me down, but I know they wouldn’t want to go where I’m headed. I’m driving straight into the heart of darkness. 

The last few months have not been kind to the Capital. Washington is a sea of brightly coloured canvas where the hordes of the Presidents’ followers have flocked to join the Dark Carnival. The streets are littered with drifts of empty Faygo bottles, rattling out of the way as I edge the SUV in between them. Most of the actual Juggalos seem to be asleep or at least inside, because I don’t catch so much as a glimpse of black and white makeup on the entire drive to the White House. When the rain stops, the increased visibility only makes things look worse. 

Tents and flags flap in the breeze, turning the once-proud building into a joke. I’m thankful that my shades shield my eyes from the technicolour embolism, although the skateboard in my hand isn’t much better. The thing was a gift from my favourite jpeg artist, a mess of artefacts with a bizarre special feature. I step onto the thing carefully, toeing the weird cluster of lime-green pixels that activates the dumbass flight mode. The first three prototypes are still bumping around the ceiling of the artist’s studio, stuck in their own fields of permanent anti-gravity. The Unreal Air carries me toward the roof of the White House, where, just as Rose said they would be, the dual Presidents of the United States are sitting on shitty lawn-chairs and chugging Faygo. 

“What the fuck?” President Dope exclaims as I switch off the anti-grav and drop onto the roof. “That motherfucker just flew up here.” 

“Miracles, brother,” is President J’s reply, and I find myself rolling my eyes so hard I’d be willing to bet Karkat can feel it from here. 

Killing another human being is not something I’ve been looking forward to, but these fuckers barely count. 

“Hey, it’s that shitsack, Strider,” Dope exclaims, recognition beetling across his face at the speed of molasses, “He’s the one the righteous fish queen had her titties in a twist over.” 

“Well, I guess we’d better motherfuckin’ get him for her, then.” 

I sigh. These idiots couldn’t catch a goddamned cold. It would feel unsporting to take them down, were it not for the genocides that have been committed in their names. 

“It’s time to die, assholes.” I keep it short and simple; it’s all the justification they deserve. 

Before they can do anything besides fall into a sloppy excuse for a fighting stance, I’m running, picking up speed, slicing with my sword in a single graceful arc. Two heads fall to the ground with a sick, wet slap behind me, and that’s that. I’m a murderer. It’s for a good cause, maybe, and they sure as hell deserved it, but I’m a murderer just the same. 

The clouds pass over, and I look out at the clusters of tents on the North Lawn, barely out of breath. I’d been expecting some kind of uproar, some outrage from the Juggalo masses at the deaths of their messiahs, but they all seem to be lounging in various states of blissed-out apathy. I consider tracking down Makara, because at least he’d give me a fair fight. I expected more; something is supposed to kill me today, after all. Whatever finishes me off isn’t here, though, and that’s really fucking bad. That means it’s going to be _her_. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I silently pray it isn’t a distress call from Karkat. 

TT: There has been a change of plans. 

TT: We have to get back to NY immediately. 

TT: I am heading to your location now, so stay put 

TG: what why 

TG: did you get fieri 

TT: I made a thematically appropriate lardball kebab out of him, yes. 

TT: His reign of terror is over, once and for all. 

TT: The same cannot be said for HIC, however. The Battleship Condescention has been sighted over New York. 

TG: fuck 

TG: we gotta get back now 

TG: im gonna start driving rose im not waiting around for you to drive here from niagara fucking falls 

TG: its in the wrong goddamn direction 

TT: Oh, but I’m not driving. 

TT: Cast your eyes upward, David. To the North West. 

TG: rose i dont have a compass jfc 

TT: You should be able to see me now. Get on that skateboard of yours and ascend, brother. 

TG: what 

TG: brother wtf are you talking about 

TG: are you trying to be street lalonde 

TG: cus let me tell you it aint working youre way too white to call anyone brother 

TG: holy shit is that you 

The Northern sky is filled with crackling lightning as I rise unsteadily into the air, wincing as static arcs from the tip of my sword and grounds itself on the skateboard’s wheels. Rose is outlined in a halo of hellish light, floating at the centre of a storm cloud so black it looks like a hole in the fabric of the universe. As she approaches, travelling faster than any inexplicably-airborne human has any right to, I’m sure I can see twisted shapes writhing within it, a bunch of otherworldly bullshit that I’m going to pretend isn't there. Rose’s skin is ashen grey, and her eyes are black as night. 

As she folds her arms around me, dragging me into a chilling embrace, I can’t help myself. 

“OK, fine, Lalonde, you got me. You’re not too white. You can call anyone you like ‘brother’.” 

Rose laughs, a sound as warm as her skin is cold, and we ride north east toward Manhattan and our own doom on a cloud of impossibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor babes are going to die and I'm making lame Duke Nukem jokes  
> I have a problem
> 
> The next two chapters will land together. Thanks for sticking with me and reading my nonsense :) I have a [tumblr](http://ao3sburbanite.tumblr.com) where I'll be shitposting my way to the end of HS and beyond. Want to talk to me? Please feel free ;)
> 
> Also, I am absolutely in love with the Grammarly add on, but it's definition of "overly complex wording" can go and fuck itself with a diamond-encrusted faberge egg.


	35. penultimate penultimate chapter: penultimate edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, I'm a jerk and I've extended things by one chapter because I don't want to break up the flow with one lumpy-ass huge chapter at the end. 
> 
> Sooooo I now present the penultimate penultimate chapter: penultimate edition

The Battleship Condescension hangs low over what remains of Manhattan, a bloody wound in the blue sky. 

We pass beneath it, the hair prickling on the back of my neck as Rose carries us through its shadow. Her arms are getting colder by the minute, and I can almost hear her heart straining with the effort of channelling this much power. I wish I could say that all of my concern is directed toward her, but my brain is occupied with one thing, one person. 

_Karkat_. 

As we took down her right-hand men, so the Condesce has taken out her murderous impulses on New York. The sea-wall lies in ruins, reduced to a few crumbling stumps jutting above the water. Down below, I can see bodies floating on the waves, cars swept into twisted heaps by the force of the flood. Most of the buildings are still standing, at least for now, but their foundations won’t last long against rising tides. In a few short years, Manhattan will be nothing but a half-submerged tangle of rusted metal and broken glass. 

The horror of it lights a fire in my chest, an inferno descended from the one that used to burn for the dying lights of Houston. Her bitter promise to me has been fulfilled. 

She’s taken everything from me: my friends, my home, and my people. 

I am going to make her _pay_ for every last one of them. 

Rose points us toward our building, still standing proud of its neighbours, and spills the pair of us onto the roof as soon as we’re close enough. I land unsteadily on my feet, just in time to catch Rose before she falls. 

“Whoa there, Lalonde. You OK? Those were some freaky eldritch mayjicks you just pulled.” 

She groans, stirring in my arms and opening violet eyes. Her skin is fading back to pale again, paler than I’ve ever seen her. 

“Not me, David. I am merely the conduit. The “mayjicks” were entirely the work of the Noble Circle of Horrorterrors.” 

I nod, because I really don’t have much to say to that. Rose just flew us here at roughly the speed of sound without the aid of an aircraft, so whatever she says goes. Even if it sounds batshit insane. 

“That’s nice, Rose. Very reassuring.” 

She looks as though she’s had the life sucked out of her through a drinking straw. I bite my lip, wondering how long I should give her to rest. Waiting around even for a second is killing me, because _we don’t have time_. 

“Uh, can you walk? We need to get downstairs.” I’m almost hopping from foot-to-foot with impatience, not even trying to hide my anxiety. 

“I can try,” She mumbles, struggling to her feet. 

Rose moves agonizingly slowly, her joints cracking with each step, and it’s not fast enough. Halfway to the stairwell door, I sweep her up bridal-style and carry her to the apartment as fast as I can. It’s only when I almost slam head-first into the door that I realize I was travelling faster than I’ve ever run before. 

“Hello! Karkat? Feferi? Sollux?” I yell, awkwardly sidling through the door so I don’t bash Rose’s head. 

“Over here!!! We’re in the bedroom!!!” 

Feferi’s voice is almost a scream, and I start running again, rushing past the trashed remains of the living room. The wind is slicing through the jagged frames of floor-length windows, glass littering the carpet, and I can’t help but notice the blood. There’s a lot of blood. I feel the back of my mouth turn sour at the sight of it. 

Feferi and Sollux are curled up on the floor, wedged between the wall and the bed and half-hidden by a laundry basket. Only Feferi and Sollux. My heart shatters in my chest as I look at the empty space where Karkat should be, but there’s no time for self-pity or grief right now. Feferi is a sobbing wreck, sitting with Sollux’s head cradled in her hands. She’s covered with grime, and it’s difficult to tell what’s dirt and what’s blood. 

I dump Rose onto the bed and kneel down next to her, dying to ask about Karkat. I can’t yet, though, she’s in shock and is obviously worried about Sollux. Shit, one look at him makes me worried about him too because although he’s alive his face and neck are covered with red. 

“Are you alright, Fef?” I try and speak softly, slowly, but my mouth inevitably gets away from me, “I mean, shit, you’re obviously not alright, you’re probably traumatized by whatever horrific bullshit happened to you. I just mean…are you hurt? Are you injured?” 

She shakes her head vigorously, wiping her tears and snot onto her sleeve as she does so. She’s going to try and talk even though she’s obviously been through the emotional meat-grinder, and I’m so fucking proud of her. 

“I’m…not hurt.” Feferi takes a deep breath, drawing from the deep well of calm inside her. She continues in a steady, deliberate tone that I know is going to shatter as soon as she finishes. Her voice is hoarse from screaming. 

“The drones came. They took Karkat, knocked the blade out of his hands without even trying. Sollux tried to stop them, he threw himself at them, tried to get them to let Karkat go…they slammed him into the wall, Dave…he won’t wake up…” 

Feferi starts crying again as she strokes her boyfriend’s matted hair; deep, sucking sobs from the bottom of her chest. She loves Sollux, loves Karkat, and this has to be more than she can bear. For my part, I’ve gone strangely numb. I mindlessly hand her the corner of the duvet to blow her nose into. The Condesce has Karkat, she undoubtedly took him to get back at me for ruining her sick, deadly games, and yet I feel completely hollow inside. 

This must be what shock feels like. Sollux probably doesn’t have time for my shock. 

“OK, we need to try and wake him up, Fef. If he has a concussion, we gotta get him conscious so we can see how bad it is.” 

Gingerly, I pull Sollux up into a sitting position, trying not to disturb the deep cuts on his forearms. The drones really did a number on him, and I’d be willing to bet he has more than one broken bone underneath the bruises blooming on his skin. I can’t do much except check his pulse and breathing, which are mercifully strong and steady, and start to gently shake him awake. 

“Sollux, buddy, you need to wake up. I need to see if you’ve scrambled those magnificent hacker brains of yours trying to be a goddamned hero.” I slap his cheek gently, praying for a response. 

“C’mon man, the computing world will never recover if you blue-screen on us now. You’re like a pasty, skinny Jesus to the world-wide-web of nerdy shut-ins, they’ll be lost without you.” 

He groans, a worrying bubbling sound coming from his chest as he pitches forward and throws up onto my leg. There’s blood there, too, but I try not to think about it. I have no idea what to do if he has internal injuries. 

“Uuuuuugh. Why are you heckling me with godawful geek-tropes, Strider?” He sits up too quickly, and I have to catch him before he lands in his own mess. 

“Welcome back, bro,” I snort. “These jeans are Armani, by the way.” 

“Yeah, and I’m sitting on a solid-gold butt-plug right now. There are fucking holes in the knees, you hipster dipshit, I can tell you’ve had them since you were twenty-two.” 

He coughs up something red, turning his head away from Feferi as he spits it out. It seems to help clear the bubbling wheeze in his chest. 

“Anyway, why the hell are you here? Shouldn’t you be a fashionable corpse by now?” 

I grin, pleased that his sense of humor is alive and well. If Sollux is this sarcastic, his brain has to be intact. 

“You’re the one who looks half-dead, Captor, but apparently it wasn’t my time just yet. How do you feel, by the way? I mean, I assume you feel as bad as you look, but is there anything we can do to make it better besides dosing you up on painkillers?” I chew at my lip again, looking over my shoulder at the gaping windows of the living room. We’re way too exposed up here. 

“We need to get you and Feferi out of here,” I continue, just as the building judders with the impact of a neighbouring building collapsing under its own weight. On cue, Feferi squeezes Sollux so tightly he nearly vomits again. 

Thousands of tonnes of water hitting the main support pillars of all of these high-rises is bound to weaken them, and I’m suddenly acutely aware that we’re sitting on top of a disaster waiting to happen. This is all too slow, it’s taking too long. 

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Sollux answers, “my ears are still ringing and my head hurts like a fucking rhinoceros stomped on it, but I think I’m OK.” 

Sollux spits up blood again along with a tooth, and I breathe an imperceptible sigh of relief. Hopefully, the blood in his vomit and all over my shag carpeting came from his mouth and split lip, rather than some unfixable internal damage. 

“Shouldn’t we wait until it gets light, though?” he asks, fiddling with his cracked glasses, “I can’t see for shit in the dark. Fucking night-blindness can eat a dick.” 

We look at each other, uncertain of what to say. Rose shuffles to the edge of the bed so that she can look into Sollux’s staring eyes. 

“It isn’t dark, Sollux,” she says, almost a whisper. “It’s still daytime.” 

“What do you mean?" he pauses, waving his bloodied right hand in front of his face. "Shit, fuck! I can’t...I can't see.” 

He rubs at his eyes, blinking away tears and squinting into Feferi’s face. 

“FF, I can’t _see_. Everything’s dim and hazy…it’s like I’m under a hundred feet of water already.” 

Feferi swallows hard, looking tearfully up at me. 

“It sounds like detached retinas,” she says quietly, far too calmly to be reassuring. “My aunt had one once, years ago. She nearly went blind in that eye. If…If you don’t get surgery straight away then they don’t heal on their own.” 

Even without vision, Sollux can still read between the lines. We all know there's no-one left to perform any kind of surgery. 

“So, I’m going to go blind? Permanently?” 

I nod, slowly, before remembering that he can’t see me. Rose comes to my rescue again, as calm in a crisis as ever. 

“You may end up blind, or you may end up dead if we don’t get the two of you out of here. Luckily, I anticipated Crocker taking out her childish frustrations on the sea-walls.” 

She drags herself to her feet, her face as pale as a corpse-lily as she sways slightly in the breeze. 

“Follow me, we don’t have much time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me


	36. Time to hit my reset button

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, y'all asked for this. 
> 
> I know I said I'd post the epilogue at the same time, but this is done so I'm gonna let you have it.  
> The epilogue won't take long to write, anyways (because I actually want to write it and nobody dies) :)

It takes an excruciating half an hour to get Sollux, Feferi and the supplies they’ll need down to the fourth floor, where the water is lapping at the windowsills. Progress is slow, Feferi and Rose supporting Sollux as best they can all the way, taking care not to let him slip from their grasp and plummet face-first down the stairs. The poor guy’s had enough head trauma for one lifetime. I yell back to them to watch their step as we encounter an abandoned wheelchair jammed into a landing’s elaborate handrailing; its occupant probably bobbing in the surf at the bottom of the stairwell. It’s yet another small tragedy that we doggedly ignore. Feferi lets out a morbid giggle as we pass it, before pointing out that I just warned them about stairs. I laugh so hard my sides hurt, inappropriate snorts slipping out of my nose despite the adrenaline coursing through my body. I make sure to wipe away the tears from my face when we reach the bottom. 

A door to an abandoned apartment is mercifully ajar, so we file inside without looking too hard at the bottom of the stairwell. The water is a murky brown, full of churned up trash and floating…things. Feferi tells Sollux to lie on the floor, face up; as Rose wearily shoves coffee tables and sofas aside to make way for the overloaded trolley I humped down twenty flights of stairs. None of us comment on the vanishingly slim chance that his retinas will spontaneously reattach themselves. Sollux is deathly pale after exerting himself getting down here, but he has enough energy to slap my hand away when I surreptitiously check if he’s still breathing. 

“I’m not dead, asshole.” 

He grins at me, and I wonder how he noticed my hand hovering in front of his face. Maybe he won’t be so terrible at being blind. Rose hands Feferi a pair of lifejackets before requesting my help with a large, heavy box, which we put down by the window. It turns out to be as self-inflating life raft, and the paddles lying in the cart suddenly make a lot more sense. In the dark recesses of my mind, an uncomfortable feeling of suspicion starts to stir. The sound of the raft inflating with a muffled ‘bang’ makes me jump, setting my already-stretched nerves jangling. Sollux and Feferi pull their life-jackets and I help them both on board while Rose holds tight to the tether. We watch them float away in their little dinghy with a cheerful wave from Feferi, and I know I’ll never see either of them again. 

“You think they’ll be OK?” I ask, hoping Rose might be able to use her Lovecraftian abilities to find out. She looks relatively normal again, but there’s an unnatural darkness beneath her skin that seems to be _moving_. 

“Yes. They will.” 

She’s so _sure_ , as if she knows exactly what’s going to happen, that it pulls the pin on something that’s been squatting in the back of my brain. 

_She knew_. 

She knew this would happen. She saw it. I could explain it all away as being prepared for everything were it not for one crucial, heartbreaking detail. 

There were _two_ lifejackets in the storeroom. _Just two._

The back of my brain feels as though it’s been blown to pieces. 

Rose’s face is impassive as she watches the vanishing speck of orange, deliberately avoiding my gaze. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” I take a gulp of air, not even trying to control the tremor in my voice. “ _You knew_ that bitch was going to take him.” 

She nods, still not looking at me. 

There’s anger burning in my stomach, hot and red, and it doesn’t fade when I see tears brimming in her eyes. Fuck her pain, fuck her guilt, _fuck her_ because he could be dead and I did nothing to stop it. It takes every ounce of restraint to channel the rage into kicking an innocent dining chair to death. When I’m done, standing panting in the wreckage, I can finally look at Rose again. 

“Why, Rose?” 

Her face is a mask of silent grief, of fear and barely suppressed panic. The last of her resolve leaves her body when she sighs out her reply. 

“What would you have done differently, Dave? If you knew?” 

“What would I have done?!” My voice roars in my ears, shocking against the soft sound of waves, but I don’t care how loud or unreasonable I’m being. “I’d have fucking protected him, Rose, protected all of them! I’d have cut down every drone that dared to come within a million fucking miles of them! I’d have _saved the one fucking person I’ve ever loved_!” 

Rose nods, looking down at her feet. I have to strain to hear what she says next. 

“And what about the Presidents, Dave? Would you have let them live?” 

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT THOSE ASSHOLES! DON’T YOU GET IT?! KARKAT. IS. GONE!!!” My voice echoes in the empty apartment. 

I’m not proud of the way Rose flinches, recoiling as if she’s been slapped. Taking a deep breath, she lifts her eyes to meet mine. 

“If you had stayed…if you hadn’t taken out the Juggalo filth masquerading as the leaders of our country, how many millions of people would have suffered at their hands?” 

I hate her for being right. I hate the fact that I would have thrown all of those men, women and children under the brightly-painted carnival bus just to save Karkat. I would have let them die without a second thought. The fight leaves me then, taking the tension that held me together with it and leaving me on my knees, just another broken idiot with a sore throat and a heavy conscience. Rose’s hand brushes the back of my head gently, a small request to soothe away some of the pain. I let her pull me in close and find myself crying into her shoulder and muttering a litany of apologies before I can stop myself. 

We don’t have long to dwell on things, though, before I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. 

Her Imperious Condesention [)(IC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]

)(IC: yo bouy   
)(IC: are you comin for your matesprit or what  
)(IC: the little flounders lookin green around the gills if you catch my fuckin drift  
)(IC: im getting awful bored of watching him squirm  
TG: ROOF. NOW.  
TG: I WILL FUCKING END YOU.  
)(IC: thats moray like it  


My face may be wet, but a satisfying numbness has taken the place of the gaping, karkat-shaped wound in my chest. 

“She’s coming. We gotta get to the roof.” 

Rose nods, and somehow I know we won’t be taking the stairs before her skin starts to swim with ink-black tendrils. Her eyes are white from sclera to pupil when she offers me her hand, and the voice that escapes her lips is a chorus of buzzing screams. 

“Let us ascend then, brother.” 

Shuddering, I clasp her icy fingers in my own, and try not to think about the fact that my oldest friend has sold her soul to the outer darkness. The light sparking from her eyes is a vicious shade of bruised retina, and I wonder what the hell is inside her that thinks I’m its fucking brother. Whatever eldritch fuckery is at work is obviously powerful, though, because a flick of Rose’s other hand is all it takes before the wall _explodes_ in a fountain of brick and glass. 

It’s almost a shame there’s nobody to see us, to record the sight of an explosion to rival the cheesiest Michael Bay movie followed by two figures rising into the air at the centre of a cloud of crackling energy. I could have made an even more substantial fortune with this level of live-effects at my disposal, although I suspect I would have been arrested for criminal damage. Some people just don’t appreciate art. 

By the time we reach the roof, the Battleship is hanging low above us. The concrete is listing slightly beneath my feet; hundreds of Sollux’s shell casings have collected in drifts at the base of the southern wall. Our sanctuary doesn’t have long left, but that’s OK. We don’t have much time either. The end of my own timeline stands out brightly ahead of me, sharp and clean as if severed by a blade. Rose and I wait in silence, interrupted only by arcs of dark energy grounding themselves on our former neighbours’ satellite dishes. Molten metal clinks as it cools, and sudden, blinding light splits the swollen belly of the ship above us. 

She’s here. 

The death of my species, my family, and my home has no right to look like a Jersey Shore reject that’s been given an unlimited credit card and set loose in the jewellery department of Sears. Even before her bedazzled fuschia pumps hit the deck, I feel embarrassed for all of us. When she fucking _jingles_ , grinning wickedly as she flicks a medusa coil of hair over one shoulder with one gold encrusted hand, I want to throw up. Even a fashion-sense as dulled as mine has its limits, and humanity deserved better than to fall at the knees of a bargain-basement Niki Minaj impersonator. 

“Sup, morons.” She says it as though she found us on the bottom of her shoe. 

All it takes is two words to remind me how much I hate her, how much I want to tear her throat out with my bare hands. How much I want to make her pay for everything, up to and including whatever she’s done to Karkat. 

“Where is he, you rancid piece of oceanic garbage?” 

The Condesce throws back her head and laughs, like some kind of B-movie supervillain. The water behind her boils as white tentacles reach higher than the building. She’s the picture of a video game final boss, and it’s too much, I can’t just let her blatant cliché grandstanding fly. I may never have made a conventionally _good_ movie, but I sure as fuck know what one looks like. 

“OK, we get it, you’re the fucking ruler of the world. YOU WON! Big fucking whoop, no need to make an even bigger ass outta yourself! I don’t give a tiny, insignificant shit about any of it, you can preen your planet-sized ego later! Where the FUCK IS KARKAT!?” 

“Jeez bouy, for a movie director you got no sense of ceremony, do you?” 

Her mass of hair parts, oily tendrils of it clinging to Karkat’s body as she pulls him from its grip. My heart stops when his head flops to one side, revealing a network of bruises staining his face and neck. For a gut-wrenching second I’m terrified he’s already dead, but the groan he utters when she tosses him bodily onto the concrete is a bittersweet assurance that he’s still alive. Her foot slams into his gut, forcing a scream from his lips. 

“If you want him, you can come get his ass. He’s too fuckin loud anyway.” Casually, she aims another kick at Karkat’s side, and my hand flares with pain from gripping too tightly to the sword I don’t remember drawing. His scream hurts even worse. 

“Little asshole gave me a headache. I hope the wizard bitch's gillfrond is quieter. Don’t think I ain’t gonna find her wherever she's hiding.” 

“FUCK YOU!” Karkat yells, making us all jump with surprise. 

His voice cracks, but I’m so fucking proud of him. Even through the blood and tears, his fury is plain to see. He didn’t break, even after everything she did to him. 

Now it’s our turn to break _her_. 

The world turns red as take off running, outpacing the writhing beams of darkness pouring from Rose’s needles. Her skin is ashen grey, her eyes narrowed portals to a universe beyond our own. My own sword is a blur, a line of light that crashes into the invisible shield surrounding her with a fountain of slow-motion sparks. The impossible barrier doesn’t absorb a single fucking iota of the energy I put into the strike, and my whole body rings like a bell as it dissipates through me. It hurts like hell, and time rushes in while I’m reeling backwards, just as Rose’s dark light hits. 

I only slip for a second, just long enough to watch it start streaming around her. Unlike last time, it doesn’t do a damn thing. Sweeping Karkat into my arms as gently as I can, I focus on speeding back to Rose. If her eldritch powers are useless, we’re all well and truly _fucked._ Karkat murmurs “It’s about fucking time,” as I lay him down in the safest spot I can think of; behind me. She’s going to have to step over my cold, dead body before I’ll let her hurt him again. 

Rose’s blast rolls over the Batterwitch like a tidal wave, but it doesn’t even touch her. I’m quick enough to catch Rose as she falls, but only just. She’s burnt out. Whatever crazy demonic bullshit she had in the tank, it’s empty now. 

The Condesce makes a show of casually inspecting the nails on her left hand, even as she summons one of my artefact-riddled monstrosities from somewhere with the other and flings it in our direction. I watch Lady Liberty’s glitched-up face bear down on us in slow motion as I grab Rose and Karkat and pull them out of its path. The statue wipes away half of the penthouse floor, setting the building swaying alarmingly. 

The bitch has the audacity to laugh. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t be able to cut ‘em a better deal, Lalonde?” she chuckles, twirling her gaudy-ass trident in with surprising grace. “My lusus is practically one of those things. Gurl’s got fronds in dark places. Fronds way more powerful than the stupid group of guppies that thought they could use you to overthrow me.” 

I’m sure I catch a sigh as she throws the trident, and my vision turns red at the edges as I slow its flight, but it doesn’t do any good. She’s holding with that invisible, paralysing grip again, toying with me, forcing me to watch as the points of the trident pierce Rose’s ribcage and spear her cleanly through the heart. The midnight aura surrounding her fades, her eyes returning to their normal delicate violet, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that she’s gone. Rose, my oldest friend, the one person who never gave up on me, is dead. 

I let her die. 

My ears ring as a scream cuts through the air, somehow ripping through the barrier holding me and freeing my legs to accelerate toward her with the vengeful momentum of an angry freight train. I don’t realise until my throat begins to burn that it’s coming from me. I swing the sword two-handed, throwing the entire weight of my relativistically impossible body into the forcefield surrounding her. It bows beneath me, shattering with a snap, crackle and pop that would make any 1990’s cereal proud. For a brief second, I think I might have a chance. 

The trident comes up to meet my sword before I get the chance to hope for victory, catching the blade between the tines and twisting with a force that no human could hope to match. There’s just enough time for me to watch my sword break in two before she swings the handle of the trident up to catch me under the chin and reality dissolves into flashing lights and blooming pain. 

When I come to, she’s got me by the throat. I can barely breathe, but I doubt she gives a shit about that. 

“So.” She says, grinning like a particularly smug shark. “I got you now, huh? Little matesprit is outta action, and your smarty-pants frond can’t help you either. You’re all mine, forever. Or until I get board anyways.” A cerise nail drags along my jugular, breaking the skin ever so gently. “And I’m gonna keep you alive for as long as that takes. It’s gonna be entertaining watching you watch them all die...when you ain’t even allowed to. We gunna have so much fin together!” 

She wants me as a puppet, as a plaything to entertain herself. She’s going to drink my pain like cheap champagne until the supply runs out, and then she’s going to fill me right the fuck back up again and do it all over again. I can feel the tears running down my cheeks, my fucking body betraying me as it sucks at the air I know she won’t let me have until the very last second. Even as my vision recedes down a tunnel of black fog, I can see her leaning in close to get a good look at my suffering. 

Her eyes are shining with a sick satisfaction…until suddenly, they aren’t. 

Her smile turns to rage as she lets me fall to the ground, and It’s only then, as much-needed oxygen rasps and bubbles in my lungs, that I realize the broken blade of my own sword is protruding from my chest. It hurts, I guess, but by this point, my whole body hurts. Trying to breathe hurts the most, and my vision blurs again for the fiftieth fucking time today as I see Karkat standing over me, slouching to one side as he clutches his ribs with one hand and flips off the ruler of an entire planet with the other. 

I want to laugh, I wish I had the oxygen for it, because he may have just killed me but he also saved me from a hundred lifetimes of listening to her talk shit. If I didn’t already worship the ground he walks on, I’d pledge my life to him right now just for that. What little life I have left, that is. 

She growls as she sticks him perfunctorily with the trident, and then Karkat is lying on top of me, warm and real even though I can tell he’s fighting for breath every bit as hard as I am. 

I can’t see, and this time, the darkness over my eyes has nothing to do with my shades. 

The last thing I feel is Karkat wrapping one blood-slick hand around my own, and squeezing tightly. 

The last things I hear are the sound of the Condesce walking away from us, muttering about humanity being a waste of space, and Karkat’s breathing slowing, slowing, and stopping. After that, there doesn't seem to be much point in trying to force air into my lungs. 

Dying is supposed to be like going to sleep, but it isn’t, not really. 

It’s more like letting everything go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry...
> 
> Please don't hate me.
> 
> I took a few liberties with canon here, but I couldn't really write it any other way. Since Vriska's mind control is reduced to inducing sleepy time in humans, I'm working off of the premise that Condy can't bring back dead or fatally wounded humans. Since she's a thief, all she can do is steal their rightful time of death from them.


	37. Epilogue

Circumstantial simultaneity runs through paradox space like the words through a stick of rock. Its effects are strange, but they add a little spice to things. Thanks to the strange twists and turns in the fabric of space-time, it turns out that nothing is ever really _new_ at all…

***

Behind the scenes of a universe that technically doesn’t really exist anymore, a hunk of rock cuts a path through nowhere-space. Its cargo is delicate, not yet truly formed, but the group of awkward teenagers fumbling their way through adolescence will one day be the gods of a new sphere of creation. Two of them sleep tangled around one another, limbs arrayed in a messy heap in a space too small to hold them. Neither has the first clue what they’re doing, but even though they both shrink from contact with others, for some reason they feel comfortable in each other’s arms.

Sometimes they wake with tears on their faces, and after a while they stop trying to hide them. Mostly they wake up happier than they’ve ever been.

***

In the heart of the Canadian wilderness, a hacker squints at his screen with his one good eye, trying to make out lines of red and blue code that flow down his laptop screen. In another window, a few precious snatches of green text flash brightly. With a few keystrokes, Sollux erases a section of the Hindu Kush from the strange, alien servers of a bright-red battleship. He’s never met the person on the other end of his connection, but he feels like he’s known her all his life. He knows he’d do anything to protect her. Looking out across the water, Sollux spots his girlf…wife swimming laps. His wife. If Karkat can just decide to be married, why shouldn’t he? Some of his days are spent in a deep, dark depression, as he tears himself apart for failing to protect his friends while Feferi strokes his back gently. Not today.

Today, he reaches deep into the mainframe of the Battleship Condescention and sets music blaring throughout her entire empire of linked communications… Nineteen plays of “What’s New Pussycat” with just one “It’s Not Unusual” thrown in for good measure.

***

Prayer-flags flutter in the breeze as a toddler squeals with delight. She’s never seen snow before, and this is a snowfall to put any Christmas card to shame. A woman wraps her in a thick, sheepskin jacket and kisses her chubby cheeks, feeling a flutter of fierce, protective love deep in her chest. Roxy is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, a perfect innocent with no knowledge of the pain and suffering overtaking the rest of the planet. She doesn’t plan on telling her. The valley is nestled in the crook of mountains so high they’re above the limit of drone flight, accessible only by a narrow, precipitous pass. In the spring, it’ll be time to head out in search of supplies, but for now, they’re safe.

“C’mon ant’kan!”

Roxy tugs at her skirt with one mitten-covered hand, eager to play. Kanaya smiles down at her with eyes filled with tears.

“In a minute, darling. Make me a snow angel.”

Kanaya sighs as she pulls the flags from her pocket, carefully unfolding squares of violet, red and grey. She hoists them high, sending prayers for her lost love and her best friends up into the stratosphere.

Ice crystals sting Kanaya’s cheeks, whipping away the moisture. Crouching down, she takes a giggling Roxy into her arms and pulls her close, holding her until the pain in her chest recedes a little.

“Let’s go and play, shall we?”

***

A boy grows up alone, surrounded by ocean and soulless technology. As he grows, he finds objects in cupboards, turning them over in his tiny hands until he puzzles out their function. Some of them are soft and cuddly, some he uses to keep himself warm. He likes those ones. One is even bigger than himself, with long floppy limbs and a silly, smiling face. He likes that one best of all.

When he’s almost three years old, the boy goes through a phase of prodding and investigating everything in sight, most of which does nothing he’s unfamiliar with. One button, though, almost out of his reach at the top of a strange plastic oblong, does something magical. Sounds and colours blare from the above the surface of the desk, and he shuffles back until he can see what’s going on. There’s a face on the screen, the first human face he’s ever seen. It smiles at him.

“Hey kid.” It says, with a low, soft voice. It’s so different from the robotic voices that taught him how to speak, to read, to understand.

“I, uh, I dunno what I should say, really. Congrats on being alive, I guess. You’re a tough kid…I’m real proud of you.”

The boy smiles, although he doesn’t know he’s doing it. From somewhere off camera, another voice mutters something.

“Oh yeah,” the man on screen grins at someone, “I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m Dave. I’m your…brother. Your, uh, your name is Dirk.”

Dave, the man’s name is Dave. His is Dirk. Dirk doesn’t know what a ‘brother’ is, but it sounds good.

Over the years to come, Dirk will spend hours transfixed by the sight of his brother’s face, the sound of his voice. Sometimes there’s someone else there too, but he never sees them. It must be someone special, though, because the way Dave’s voice turns to warm, Texan honey when he speaks to them makes Dirk’s stomach do little flips.

Right now, on the day of their first meeting, Dave is about to change Dirk’s life forever.

“I, uh, queued up a bunch of these for you to watch, these guys practically raised me so I figured they could do the same for you. There’s gonna be something playing during the daytime until you get tall enough to reach the off-switch.”

Dave’s face screws up a little behind his shades. Dirk wonders why he’s unhappy all of a sudden, and when he’ll get to meet Dave face-to-face.

“I don’t want ya to be lonely, Dirk.”

There’s some of that honey in Dave’s voice again, but Dirk won’t realise what it means until he’s older, until he speaks to a young woman who loves him with all her heart.

Music plays, and Dirk is captivated.

_Sunny Day,_  
_Sweepin' the clouds away,_  
_On my way to where the air is sweet,_  
_Can you tell me how to get,_  
_How to get to Sesame Street…_

***

Across the ocean, a girl is raised by strange, alien creatures. Mostly, though, she raises herself. She explores her ancient, rambling house with a thirst to know who she is, where she came from. It isn’t until she communes with the pink laptop left for her to find away from prying carapacian hands that she gets her answers.

When she’s six, she balances on a stool to reach the very back of an oversized wardrobe. Behind the skeletons of decaying hats and the warm piles of long scarves, she finds a thick book. It looks almost like one of the many wizard books on the shelves downstairs, but unbelievably, it’s even thicker. She opens it carefully, legs kicking in the air as she sprawls on the bed she likes to imagine her mother slept in. Behind the layers of tissue paper are hundreds of photographs, each with a little caption in red chicken-scratch.

There’s a small dedication on the front inside cover, in the same messy handwriting.

_“To Rose, to show you just how rad you are. And hot, obviously. Have a babelicious 30th,_  
_D.S.”_

It’s hours before Roxy is done flipping through the pages, watching her mother grow from a grinning child jumping headlong and fully clothed into the water of a pool to a smouldering teenager with too much dark eyeshadow. Styles change, hair boomerangs from long to almost shaved to shoulder-length, but her mother has the same fiery passion behind her violet eyes. A beautiful woman is with her in a lot of the photographs, laughing and smiling. There’s something tender between them that makes Roxy incredibly happy. When she finds a candid shot of them kissing sloppily in the darkness of a bar, eyes squeezed shut tight and completely lost in each other, she squeals with delight. Roxy writes a lot of stories about her Mom and the mystery woman.

In her stories, they have a daughter that they love more than anything in the world.

***

The Condesce spends hundreds of years watching her species wither and die, waiting for her next set of playthings to arrive.

When the one that looks like the bitch she skewered on a New York City rooftop drives a familiar-looking sword through her back, the irony is delicious. It's the last thing she tastes as she chokes on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end. Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> All of the kudos and comments have kept me going, so extra big thanks for those!


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